


I've Given You Forever

by notwanheda



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Mythology, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Slow Burn Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Soulmates, bear with me, google is your friend, that last tag is a spoiler kinda, the mythology might get confusing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:02:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10153259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwanheda/pseuds/notwanheda
Summary: The fire in her eyes could burn down the entire village if that was possible. She was so angry, and she had a right to be. Bellamy felt the cold of the blade pressed to his throat, right above his adam's apple, it was a dare, a threat. But not a promise. Clarke was a giver of life, she made flowers grow in soot. She would not kill someone in cold blood. He felt a smirk play on his lips. Her grip on his shirt got tighter. Her jaw was tight and she held the blade even closer, but not close enough to actually draw blood. Their faces were mere inches apart. Bellamy let out a breath he did not know he had been holding.“Are you done?” He said, finally. His voice was barely audible.--Greek Mythology AU with a twist, where Bellamy is Hades and Clarke is Persephone. In this version, Persephone escapes Hell, and brings Hades with her.





	1. Hades & Persephone

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Here's something new I've been working on, please feel free to ask questions to clarify some of the mythology, I know it can be confusing. And please leave a comment/kudos! Thank you!

_ “Lost in Hell,--Persephone, _

_ Take her head upon your knee; _

_ Say to her, ‘My dear, my dear, _

_ It is not so dreadful here.’” _

 

All she could do right then was run. She could still hear the faint shouts and growls of the spirits behind her, but they’d begun to fade away. A thick black fog hung over her, and she felt it fill her lungs. He was trying to trap her again, but she was wiser this time. He couldn’t keep her in here any longer, she was leaving, whether he liked it or not. She cut the extra fabric away from the bottom of her dress, that now hung tattered and frayed off her body. She had only simple slippers on, not ideal for running as she had learned.   

 

She planned everyday. After their tense dinners, she’d excuse herself politely, slip away, and begin looking for a way to escape. It was virtually impossible for anyone to escape this wretched place, this she knew. But she had to try. So she pored over maps and books in the study, and when night would fall, she’d read in the dim candlelight. This kept her busy and away from  _ him _ , who made her skin crawl from a simple glance. 

 

She had to hide her feverish excitement when she finally found a passage, a loophole, a weak spot in the god’s grand and inescapable kingdom. It took her a few days, and she had to bribe a few servants, but she had finally found a way. He gave her strange looks, but did not inquire her any further. He knew to keep his distance from her. She was thankful for that. It almost,  _ almost _ , made her want to give him a chance. The dangerous thought vanished as soon as it emerged. 

 

When the palace finally grew quiet, she left her chambers, and then she ran. It was now or never. It was so quiet that her footsteps on the palace floor reverberated off the walls. She ran frantically, almost slipping at every sharp turn. She could be caught at any moment, imprisoned in the dark cellar and maybe even killed. The risk did not matter to her at all. He could not hold her a single day more. She was Persephone, daughter of Demeter, goddess of the spring; and she could not stand to be in this underworld any longer.

 

The fog was coming down on her even heavier now, she tasted it in her mouth, and it tasted what she presumed death tasted like. It sent a shiver down her spine. This pushed her to run harder, push her trembling legs to their limits. She heard the crack of a whip and distant shouting. She cursed to herself. He had heard her. Persephone didn’t know how he had found her already, she planned this too careful and meticulous. Hades was smart, she knew that when he had taken her, but she was so  _ careful.  _ Not careful enough. It must have been one of the servants. 

 

The shouts that started to fade were now only getting louder and closer, and Persephone knew she was running out of time. She hadn’t noticed his chariot behind her before it was too late, when the dogs were close enough to gnash at her legs, a hair away from taking out a chunk of her flesh. Her muscles were screaming in pain, but she ignored them. Persephone thought of her mother, who was probably looking for her right now, and made even greater strides. She was going home. 

 

Hades was yelling now, and she had never heard his voice reach such a great volume. He sounded angry, very angry, and almost desperate. It scraped something raw inside of her. His voice became lost in the thunder of her footsteps on the ground and the shouts of spirits. The spirits began to wail at a deafening volume, and she could not hear Hades anymore, she could not hear anything. She turned to see that Hades had stopped too. Persephone went to cover her ears, but flinched when she discovered they were wet with blood. The screams had somehow become even louder, and it felt like her skull was exploding from the pressure. She dropped to her knees, pressing her hands to her ears even harder, to keep her skull from splitting from the screams. 

 

Persephone turned around again, to see that Hades had fallen out of his chariot, and was now crawling towards her. His expression was pained, but his eyes were fixed on her in a menacing glare. She shuddered and began to crawl away from him, her head pounding. Her arms were shaking, and every inch felt like a mile. She could feel the blood dribbling down her neck as she crawled. She looked over her shoulder, Hades was struggling too, which gave Persephone a strange feeling of satisfaction.

 

The cave that the servant told her about was right in front of her. In hushed whispers he had explained that this was the key to escaping. She remembers his smug grin when she handed him his bribe, the finest whiskey in the palace. Her whole body was shaking now, and she felt like she might collapse onto the gravel. A pained moan left her lips. The black fog was everywhere now, in her mouth, in her throat, in her lungs. She heaved onto the grass but nothing came out.  

 

Her vision was blurring, and her head was pounding. This was it. This was how she would die. And she would end up right back in the same spot, for she was in hell now, and there was no escape. A strangled sob escaped her and she felt herself losing all the strength she had moments before. The spirits, or demons rather, had finally stopped, but her ears still rang. Hades was slumped on the floor behind her, his chest rising and falling sporadically. A part of her wanted to check if he was alright, but the other part of her, the erratic part of her that landed her into this mess, decided to keep crawling. 

 

She was at the mouth of the cave when the ground below her began to rumble. It was faint at first, but then turned into a significant tremble. It was vibrating below her fingertips, and she could hear Hades yelling for her to come back. A sudden burst of anger flared in her chest. But before she could reply to him, a sickening crack echoed through the cave, and like a light switch, everything went from a blinding white to darkness.

  
  


\---

 

The first thing she felt when she woke was the soft fur under her, and the scroll in her hands. Then came the pounding headache, so strong that it took her a few moments to come to her senses. She opened her eyes slowly, in fear of what would be waiting for her. She was in a small room, with wooden floors and a low roof. The room was only illuminated by the low light of a single candle. The faint smell of daffodils hung in the air. She was definitely not in the underworld anymore, but this place was not familiar to her at all. The room was eerily silent, and Persephone felt her skin erupt in goosebumps. Something was wrong.

 

Then the ringing in her ears came back. 

 

“Please, for the love of Gods, stop,” she groaned out.

“Persephone?”

Persephone got up instantly, holding the sides of her head like the voice of her mother might slip away if she did not.

“Mother? Is that you?”

Demeter sighed with relief, “It is so good to hear your voice. Are you in the cabin?”

Persephone looked around, and nodded. And then realized her mother couldn’t see her, and said, “Yes, mother, I am in a cabin. Why am I here? What is going on?”

Demeter let out a huff and replied slowly, “It is for your protection. Look at the scroll in your hands.”

Persephone realized she was still holding the scroll and unraveled it. There was a name written at the top, in her mother’s familiar handwriting. Her heart swelled, she missed her dearly. 

“What is this?” she said, reading the rest of the paper. She did not understand. 

“The paper is you. This is you in this universe.”

“What are you talking about, Mother? What is going on?” She repeated, her voice louder than she intended it to be.

“I found a loophole, in this whole deal. I’ve transported you through time, and this is your name in this universe.  _ Clarke Griffin. _ ”

“Clarke,” she said, testing the sound of her name out loud, “Alright, but, what am I supposed to be doing in this universe?”

Her mother paused before she spoke again. 

“The gods are very angry with the both of us. They have sent out bounty hunters. I am in hiding as well, but I cannot disclose where.”

“When will I see you again?” Clarke asked, her voice breaking. 

“Soon, my love. I must go now though, and I fear that we will not speak for a long while.”

Clarke nodded but did not say anything. She was trying to process everything that her mother just told her. She observed her surroundings, the entire cottage was as big as her room in the palace. There was a table next to her bed, which was piled with various furs and a large tub in the far right corner. Clarke scratched her temple, she was unsure if her mother was still there or not.

“Oh, and Clarke?” Her voice startled her.

“Yes, mother?”

“I have reason to believe that Hades had also went through the portal. The underworld is in disarray. He could be nearby, so be cautious. Goodbye, Clarke. Stay safe, and may we meet again.”

“May we meet again.”

 

And just like that her mother was gone. She reread the scroll in her hand and then stood up carefully, like she was just learning to walk for the first time. She felt her ears, the blood had dried. On the bedside table there was a knife, a candle, matches, and a map. She looked to her left, a small door was the only entrance to the rickety cottage. It had a peephole and a tiny, dingy window next to it. She peered out of it carefully. Her cottage was on the edge of a small town, people hustled about, unaware that a god had just broken through time and space and landed herself here.  _ Two gods, actually _ , she thought, remembering her mother’s warning. On the windowsill was a pot of daffodils, and they grew on the ground in front of the cottage too. She smiled to herself. Her mother’s words to her kept replaying in her head. And her name.  _ Clarke Griffin.  _ It had a nice ring to it, it made Persephone sound archaic. 

 

-

 

Everything hurt. His back, his legs, his head. Oh gods, his  _ head.  _ It was pounding so hard he thought it might explode. He had a deep scratch on his forearm that he had no recollection of getting. It was cold and wet and smelled like grass and dirt. He was definitely not in the underworld anymore. His senses were on fire, the smells, the air, the feeling of grass and twigs and mud on his skin. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the moon and night sky above him. He stared at it and it stared right back, condescending and careful. He hadn’t seen the moon in many years. He got up slowly, letting out an agonizing groan. He was in a ditch, in the middle of nowhere. There were trees around the ditch, a wall protecting him from the outside world. 

_ Or protecting the outside world from me,  _ he thought. 

Then the demonic ringing in his ears started again, and he clapped his hands over them. 

 

“Hades! Hades, its me!”

Hades turned around in confusion, peering into the darkness. The trees did not move.

“Show yourself!”

“It’s Hera, you buffoon.”

His breath hitched in his throat.

“Hera,” he breathed out, “It’s so good to hear from you.”

“You too, Brother.”

“Do you know where I am?”

She sighed, “Yes, you are with the humans. In a different universe entirely.”

“Damn that Persephone, look what she’s gotten herself into this time!”

His sister laughed and then said, “In this world, we call you Bellamy, Bellamy Blake. I am Octavia.”

He repeated the names in his head. They sounded familiar to him, yet distant, like a lost memory. 

“Well, Octavia,” he said playfully, “Am I in danger?”

She paused, and then said, “Yes. Everything is in chaos. But you must find Persephone - I mean Clarke, her name is Clarke - and well, you know what to do.”

“I understand. Will I be hearing from you again?” His voice was desperate. 

“I am afraid not. Soon though, I hope. Be careful.”

“May we meet again.” 

 

But she was gone before she could say it back. Bellamy looked at his clothes, they were wet and streaked with blood. He heard a commotion in the distance, he must be in what the humans called towns. He started walking toward the sounds, he could see the light of lanterns and silhouettes of people in the distance. His muscles ached with every step. The town was small and cozy, everyone was on their way home to their families. The houses were pressed close together, and with every gust of wind, looked like they might blow over. Vines tangled onto the red bricks like snakes, like they could swallow the tiny houses whole. Bellamy walked up what he presumed was the main street, his shoulders tensing at anyone who gave him strange looks. And there were many. He was bruised, bloody and wet, and taller than most. Old ladies clutched their baskets tighter, and mothers held their children closer. He stuck out like a sore thumb. 

 

Loud shouting up the street broke Bellamy’s train of thought, and he quickened his pace to see what all the fuss was about. A small crowd had gathered in front of a bar called Maggie's on the edge of town. A drunkard was shouting about something that Bellamy could not hear until he actually came closer. 

“A witch! A witch, I tell you! Those flowers wasn’t there before! Listen to me!” He yelped, and then tipped back his bottle of, well, Bellamy wasn’t quite sure. 

Bellamy looked at the cabin in question, tufts of daffodils grew around the entrance and in pots on the windowsill.  _ Persephone.  _ He looked back at the man, who was stumbling about shouting profanities about demons to passerbys. A young man stepped out of the crowd and grabbed the man roughly by the shoulders and led him to the closest ally. Before stepping into the darkness, the drunk looked over his shoulder at Bellamy, for just a second too long. 

 

The crowd that gathered began to dissipate and Bellamy approached the cabin slowly. He was more fearful that Persephone,  _ Clarke, _ would be inside than her not being there. He knew how angry she was. He felt it every time she looked at him, which was rare. When he walked into a room, her eyes would flick to him briefly, and then to the floor or her cuticles. Her gazes never lingered like his did. At least, as far as he noticed. 

 

He knocked on the door tentatively, he felt like his knocks could be heard from the heavens. A beat, but nothing. No one was home. He let out a deflated sigh and began to walk away, when he heard shuffling coming from inside the cottage. He turned back and hesitated before knocking again, his heart hammering in his chest. More shuffling. And then a lock unbolting. The door creaked open slowly, at first there was a crack of darkness, and then a wisp of blonde hair and half of a face, illuminated by the moonlight. Her icy blue eye bore into his soul. She said nothing, she just glared. 

 

Bellamy cleared his throat. “May I come in?”

“Oh, this is quite shocking. You’re actually asking to come into my personal space!” She spit out, clutching the door until her knuckles were white. 

Bellamy put his hand on the door, careful but assertive. 

“You and I both know that the same people are looking for the both of us.”

She squinted at his face carefully, looking at him with utter contempt and then, for a brief moment, defeat. Her lips were pursed, her gaze shifting to calculating. She was always thinking one step ahead. She opened the door all the way, revealing her whole face. It was just as menacing as seeing only half of it. He sighed and stepped into the doorway. She walked in front of him, back turned and head bowed. Like she was deep in thought. A rush of wind slammed the creaky door shut and they both jumped. Clarke let out a sigh, and just as Bellamy was about to speak again, she had him pushed against the wall, knife to his throat. 

 

The fire in her eyes could burn down the entire village if that was possible. She was so angry, and she had a right to be. Bellamy felt the cold of the blade pressed to his throat, right above his adam's apple, it was a dare, a threat. But not a promise. Clarke was a giver of life, she made flowers grow in soot. She would not kill someone in cold blood. He felt a smirk play on his lips. Her grip on his shirt got tighter. Her jaw was tight and she held the blade even closer, but not close enough to actually draw blood. Their faces were mere inches apart. Bellamy let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. 

“Are you done?” He said, finally. His voice was barely audible.

Her eyes were glassy, and he felt the slight tremble of her hand near his throat. He swallowed roughly. She dropped the knife to the floor, letting it clatter at their feet. She let go of his shirt and stepped back, her hands still trembling. The urge to hold her small, delicate hands in his overcame him for a brief moment. But then one look from her, a gaze as hard as diamonds, broke him out of his daze. 

 

She crossed her arms over her chest and said finally, “How did you find me?”

“I heard a commotion. I saw the flowers. Daffodils. Your favorite.”

She shifted, and swallowed. She had told him this once, briefly. She must have been surprised that he remembered. 

“Why are you here, Hades?” She said, her voice weary. This was the longest she had ever looked at him at once, and there was a chaos in his chest. 

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend?” He offered with a sly smile. He was playing a dangerous game trying to amuse her, but he figured he’d try. She said nothing, just nodded. She looked at the table next to her, and then at her feet, and then finally at him. It was softer this time, and he could notice how tired she was. 

“Have you spoken to anyone?” She asked, pointing to her bloody ear. 

He nodded, “My sister. And you?”

Clarke paused and looked at her hands, she always averted her gaze when she was exposed to something uncomfortable. “My mother.”

 

Bellamy’s mouth made an O shape. Demeter was by far one of the most conniving, ruthless people he had ever met. And he was the God of the Underworld. But he did not say anything to Clarke. He knew how much she loved her. He simply clenched his jaw and nodded. She exhaled loudly and walked to the table next to the bed. Her hand brushed over a scroll and what looked like a map. Bellamy stepped closer to the table, the map was of where they were right now.  _ England.  _

 

Clarke traced her fingers on the edges of the country, following its curves until she reached where they were, right smack in the middle. Bellamy didn’t quite understand the map, and judging by Clarke’s furrowed brows, she didn’t either. 

“We can look at this tomorrow,” he said, his voice small. 

She nodded, her shoulders sagging in defeat. Bellamy noticed there was only one bed in the cottage, right in the middle of the one room place. She sat on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest and sighing. She looked so tired. He could see her knees were scabbed and bloody. From when she fell. He shuddered. That had been his fault. If only he had a chance to explain why he was actually going after her. 

“You should bathe and change your clothes, I don’t think we can stay in this town for very much longer.” 

“And why is that?” She asked, tilting her head to look at him fully. 

“It’s not safe.”

“Why are you so concerned with my safety anyway?” 

Bellamy said nothing, he just squinted his eyes at her. She looked away first, defeated. 

“I have to do something. In this town. I’ll be back soon,” he said, pointing at the tiny window. 

“And what is it that you have to do?” She asked slowly, reaching for the scroll next to her bed. He’d have to see what that was later. 

“I’m going to have a drink,” he replied, walking over to the door and shutting it closed behind him. 

-

 

Clarke thought she might go mad staying with him, surviving with him. He was so arrogant, and he  _ smirked _ when she had the blade pressed to his throat. She could imagine herself killing him, but that would not solve anything. And it was against her nature. He must have known that. He knew too much about her that she never actually revealed. He must have been paying close attention.

 

The pitter-patter of raindrops broke Clarke’s stupor, and she noticed a small puddle already forming in one corner of the cottage.  _ A place fit for the gods, _ she thought, while grabbing a bucket that was under the table and placing it there to catch the rainwater. She also got another candle and lit it with the matches. Taking Bellamy’s advice, she shed her tattered dress and unhooked her corset, allowing herself to finally breathe. Every creak in the cottage made her jump, the last thing she wanted was Bellamy walking in on her undressing. She didn’t think she’d ever recover from something like that. 

 

Standing in her undergarments, she realized that she needed to go outside and actually pump water from the well. She sighed and looked around for something to wear. She decided to just wrap one of the furs around herself and go outside. The town was quieter, everyone went home already. No one would see her.

 

She scurried out the front door, leaving it slightly ajar. She swung the bucket back and forth, whistling happily and the thought of having a warm bath. Fat raindrops dropped on her head and arms, but it was a warm night, and she didn’t really care. In fact, it felt good. She started to pump the well, at first nothing, but then a steady stream of water started to pour out. She sighed in relief.

 

Then, she heard a twig snap behind her, causing her to jump and almost disrobe herself. 

“Who’s there?” She croaked out, in her most assertive voice. 

Nothing. She exhaled, it must have been some type of animal. She went back to pumping the well, her bucket filling almost completely. Then, another twig snapped behind her. She remembered the knife on the floor of the cottage, and wished so badly that she had it with her right now. Another snap. Clarke whipped her head around, a figure was on the outside of the fences around the cottage, half hidden in the trees. Then there were two more. They were small, like children. 

“Show yourself,” she said, gulping down her fear. The rain was falling into her eyes now, blurring her vision slightly.  

The figures giggled and walked into the pale moonlight. Three boys, no older than ten, sheepishly walked out from behind the trees. The tallest one was standing in front, trying to stifle a giggle. 

 

It was then Clarke realized just how exposed she actually was. She gripped the furs tighter to her, and crossed one leg over the other, trying to cover up in some way. 

“Get out of here! Don’t you have mothers that are worried sick for you!” She yelled in frustration. She couldn’t believe that children had scared her this much. The boys looked at one another and giggled again, and then ran towards the town. Clarke exhaled. She looked at her bucket, and remembered what she had actually gone outside to do. 

 

-

 

The bar was stiffly warm, and smelled like grease and stale beer. Bellamy sat on rickety bar stool, that rocked ever so slightly every time he shifted his weight. The bar had lanterns lining its walls and two doors at the front that swayed open at every gust of wind. No one seemed to notice. The people in the booths were too caught up in their midnight business deals or promises of sexual favors. He looked at the husky man with the two young women in the far right corner and shuddered in disgust. He did not understand the delights of the humans. 

 

The bartender walked over to him finally, sizing him up and down before asking if he wanted anything to drink. He looked at the nearest bottle and ordered a glass of that.  _ Whiskey.  _ He played the word over in his head. The servants at the castle drank this stuff all the time. The bartender placed a glass in front of him, pouring the brown liquid into the glass sloppily. He looked at her and then the glass and said thanks. 

 

Before taking a sip, someone on the other side of the bar had caught his attention. They were staring at him. It was the same man that was screaming about Clarke’s flowers. He glared back at him. It was like a silent showdown. The drunk looked away first, taking a swig out of whatever bottle he was drinking out of now. The man made Bellamy feel very uneasy, like he knew all his secrets. 

 

Bellamy sipped his drink slowly, it tasted absolutely awful, like death. And he knew what that tasted like. He looked at the people around him, who were too busy drinking away their worries to notice his sour expression. The man across the bar had noticed however, and was grinning. Bellamy rolled his eyes and dug around his pocket for the coins he had taken from the table in the cottage. He put them on the counter, perhaps too forcefully, because the people around him jumped and glared. 

 

He got up and walked through the swinging double doors, he needed air and he needed to finish one more thing. Perhaps, exactly right on time, the drunk that was eyeing him before, pushed through the double doors, grunting. Bellamy had greater strides, so he was well in front of the man. He could hear his grunting as he was trying to keep up. Bellamy stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly. 

“Cyane,” he said slowly, drawing out the last syllable. 

The man smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Hades, it’s a pleasure. I’m surprised you knew it was me.” 

“You’re a terrible actress, Cyane. But I must admit this skin suit you found is much prettier than you.” 

Cyane narrowed her eyes at Bellamy and curled her lip. Her fists were clenched by her sides. Fighting stance. 

“What do you want Cyane?” Bellamy said, taking two small steps toward her. 

“Tell me where Persephone is and we won’t have any problems.” She said, her voice dangerously low. 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Bellamy’s voice was just as threatening.

“Then I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way,” she replied back clenching her fists and stepping toward Bellamy. 

 

Bellamy reached into his pocket and took out the knife Clarke had pulled on him. Cyane clearly didn’t notice, giving him the advantage. She swung once, and Bellamy ducked. She swung again, and this time the fat fist of the skin suit she was inhabiting connected with his jaw. The familiar metallic taste of blood was on his tongue. He spit it out and grinned, smug. A piece of him felt bad this wasn’t going to be a fair fight, but this wasn’t a fight. It was a matter of protecting Clarke, and that always came first, no argument about it. 

 

Before Cyane could swing again, Bellamy lunged forward and with the knife stabbed her stomach. She doubled over in pain, screaming. Bellamy cursed her for being so loud. Cyane staggered slowly toward a wall, and leaned against it. Blood was gushing from her wound and she was moaning. Bellamy walked to her slowly, wiping his hand on his pants. He leaned forward very close to Cyane’s face, her breath smelling like booze and cigarettes. It was revolting, and even a little sad. He took a deep breath before speaking again.

“I’m sorry it has to end this way, Cyane.” 

She said nothing, just looked at him, her expression pained and angry. He took her quivering chin into his hand and stared at the skin suit’s eyes, muddled green. 

He said, slowly, drawing out every word, “If you, or any of your little minions come for me or Persephone,” he paused at her name, “I will kill you, send you to the underworld, and then kill you there. Again.” 

Cyane was quivering in both fear and pain. It gave Bellamy intense satisfaction. She was blubbering out something incomprehensible, but Bellamy didn’t care to ask what before slitting her throat. 

 


	2. Where Have All the Flowers Gone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who was trying to kill me?” She said, looking at her hands. She could see dirt and blood under her fingernails. Bellamy stopped.  
> “If I tell you the truth-”  
> “Tell me.” She interrupted. She clenched her hands in her lap, and then flattened them onto her knees. Her hands were shaking ever so slightly. Bellamy swallowed before speaking.
> 
> “Your mother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOhh, plot twiistttt... Anyways, hello, here's chapter 2. This was fun to write, and I hope ya'll enjoy. Leave a comment/kudos if you enjoyed! Also, Hebe is one of many daemons or personified spirits, which were just parts of human conditions. Hebe is Youth. You'll see why. ;)  
> +quotes in the beg. of each chapter are not mine, they're quotes from different poems about h&p, this one is by cecilia woloch.

  _"And Hell's poor souls whirl around us as they glide_

_off up to Lethe to begin again,_

_on to new lives, new dawns beyond Hell's night._

_We walk among your flowers, side by side,_

_such joys we share are worth a little pain."_

She was floating, weightless and free. She hadn’t felt so free in a long time, and it felt good. The water around her was clean and a brilliant shade of blue, the sky was cloudless. The sun hit her face, warming her whole body. Here where the sky met the ocean, anything was possible. Nothing could bother her here. No one could take her away from this.

 

Then, a door slammed shut. And Clarke jumped in the tub, sloshing water everywhere. The floating was a dream, and she was actually in a tub, in a cottage, no longer alone. Clarke’s heart began to hammer in her chest. She cursed herself for falling asleep, and looked around. She sunk down deeper into the tub, hoping that whoever was there wouldn’t notice her.

“Clarke!” A gruff voice bellowed.

“Oh gods.” She muttered.

 

He turned and saw her, and looked like he might fall down. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyebrows shot up. Clarke felt a blush rise on her cheeks. Bellamy looked at the ceiling immediately and coughed awkwardly.

“Oh- Uh, do you- want me to- uh- leave?” He said, looking anywhere but at Clarke.

Clarke had to stop herself from smiling at his awkwardness. This was completely unlike anything she’d seen of him. Bellamy, face as hard and as carved as stone, was crumbling right in front of her.

“Yeah, um, just give me five minutes and I’ll be dressed.”

He nodded quickly, avoiding her eyes and walked out of the cottage, slamming the door behind him.

 

Clarke let out a deep breath, that was incredibly embarrassing, for the both of them. Her cheeks were still hot. She got out of the tub, almost slipping, and dried herself off with a clean rag she had found. In that moment, she realized that she actually had nothing to wear.

“Oh for God's sake!” She exclaimed loudly.

Bellamy knocked on the door softly.

“Bellamy, I’m kind of having a crisis, so you are going to have to wait.”

“What is it?” He said, his voice muffled.

She sighed, “I have nothing to wear.”

 

A pause from the other side of the door, and then laughter. She couldn’t help the grin forming on her face.

“It’s not funny!”

“Yes, it really is.” He said, through gasps of breath.

She grabbed the furs she used before and wrapped them around herself. She walked to the door and opened it, startling Bellamy. On his tan skin it was barely noticeable, but she could see he was blushing.

“Help me. Or you’re sleeping outside.”

He nodded, clearly flustered by her nudity, and at the thought of sleeping in the mud. Bellamy kept a great distance from her as he rummaged through the cottage. He also looked anywhere but in her direction. A trunk next to the fireplace caught Clarke’s eye. How had she not noticed it before? She pointed to it.

“Bellamy. There, open that.”

“Gods, did your mother expect you to walk around naked in the human world?” He muttered, walking toward the chest. He crouched to open it, finding it to be locked. Clarke sighed. Then she remembered the pins in her hair. She gave one to Bellamy. He looked at her, and then the pin, confused.

“Pick the lock.”

He looked at her again, still not understanding.

“You don’t know how to pick a lock, do you?”

“Not in the slightest. And you do?”

“How do you think I figured out how to escape?” She said, smirking.

Bellamy just stared at her, brows furrowed.

“I’ll pick the lock. But I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?” He said, his voice cautious. Clarke’s smirk was dangerous and foreign to him. It was her weapon.

“Take off your shirt.”

Again, he made the same bewildered, open mouthed expression as when he walked in on her bathing. Clarke wished she could capture this moment forever.

“I’m not going to crouch down wearing barely anything. Your shirt will have to do.”

She looked at it, blue and holed. And stained with blood. A lot more than before he left the cabin. He nodded and pulled the shirt over his head, exposing tanned skin and a toned stomach. She noticed he had freckles on his chest too. And a tattoo, under his right collarbone. Of a rose. It made her skin feel hot. Bellamy looked at her and now he was grinning dangerously. She cursed him and all the Gods above in her head before she extended her hand out for the shirt.

“Turn around.” She said, her voice stern.

He obliged and she quickly put the shirt on. It reached the top of her thighs, enough to make her decent. The scent of him was all around her, and it was overwhelming. It reminded her of the smell before it rains. This suddenly felt more intimate than she had thought it would be. She looked at his back, lean and muscular, with two dimples near the waistband of his pants. Like his face, it was dusted with a nebula of freckles. The urge to trace the constellations suddenly overcame her. _Oh gods, what have you gotten yourself into,_ she thought.

“Okay. You can turn around.” She croaked out,  bending down to pick the lock before she could meet his eyes. She could feel his gaze on her, but she ignored it, and focused on jiggling the lock open. It took a few tries, but it finally opened with a satisfying click. Clarke opened the dusty chest, to find clothing and towels and other random items. She laughed and looked up at Bellamy, he was smiling too.

-

Looking at the corner of the wall, he thought about her in his shirt. It had given him a feeling he couldn’t quite shake. It felt utterly domestic, and much more intimate than anything they had before. He kept his fists clenched at his sides as she dressed in her new clothing. He felt like he was standing in quicksand, only digging himself deeper.

“Okay. I’m done.”

He turned around, her arm was holding out his shirt. She looked flustered, but happier than before. It made him feel easier. He put the shirt back on and walked over to the map on the table. He traced his fingers over where Clarke had traced before.

“Why is there blood on your shirt?” She said, her voice quiet, and faraway.

“I got into a fight.”

He turned to face her, her arms were crossed over her chest. A wrinkle in between her brows had formed. He sighed and scrubbed his face, a habit he had formed when frustrated. He pinched the space between his brows.

“We were found.”

“By who?”

“Cyane. She wanted you.”

“Well, who sent her?” She said, her voice low and inquisitive.

“I... didn’t ask,” he said slowly, recalling the image of Cyane’s slumped form in the alley.

She let out a breath in frustration and then came next to him, looking at the map, the stubborn furrow in her brow more prominent than ever.

“Let’s leave in the morning.”

He nodded and walked across the room to the chest, digging through it for a new shirt. He found one, beige and a little worse for wear. He figured it’d have to do.

“How come Cyane didn’t come to the house? She was yelling, but didn’t come near the house.” She was calculating, putting the pieces together.

Bellamy was silent.

“Maybe your mother did something,” he lied.

How could he explain to her that that was him? He’d struck a deal with a witch in the underworld, she was ghastly and wicked, but so was he. He remembers it being dark, and a misty fog had fallen over the palace. She wrung her hands together after he’d explained to her what he wanted. She smiled a toothless smile, it made him feel queasy. She said she would do it, and he paid her with Midas’ finest. Bellamy had a lot of money that he didn’t need. The money seemed pointless. Her gray eyes glittered greedily at the sight of all of it.

“That doesn’t make sense. How did you come into the cabin then?”

He blinked, trying to think of a useful explanation. He remembers taking a lock of her blonde hair from her brush, the witch’s wrinkled hands working quickly. He felt guilt in his gut the whole time. He didn’t feel like he had any right to be doing that. He shook his head.

“It’s a lot more complicated than you know, Clarke.” His voice wavered at her name. She stepped closer to him, eyeing him suspiciously. The same way after she had dropped that knife to the floor. It made his whole body feel cold.

“Then explain it to me.” Her words were ice, and her eyes were fire.

Bellamy gulped.

“I can’t. You have to trust me for now, this is for the best.”

She eyed him suspiciously, but remained silent. Then she yawned.

“I’m going to bed.”

Bellamy nodded, he could feel the discomfort in the air. Clarke threw a few of the furs on the ground and one of the pillows, feathers flying out.

“You sleep there,” she said, emotionless.

The change in her voice, from playful to frigid, made him uneasy. He wished he could explain it all to her, but it would put them both in danger. Clarke sat on the bed with a creak and exhaled loudly. He knew she was frustrated, but she was also too tired and couldn’t argue. Bellamy plopped down on the ground, it wasn’t comfortable but he’d make do. Clarke leaned over to the table and blew out the candles. He couldn’t sleep, at least not right away. This was bugging him incessantly, he’d finally gained some sort of relationship with Clarke and now they had nothing, again.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. He looked up at the bed, she was facing away from him.

Clarke grunted in response. She must have been falling asleep.

“I wish I could tell you everything.”

 

She didn’t say anything back.

-  


Her first thought when she woke was that it was _hot._ The room was terribly stuffy, and she felt like she was suffocating. The pile of furs didn’t help either. She got out of bed slowly, stretching her arms up. Clarke noticed that the floor was bare. Bellamy was gone. At first, she was nervous. What if something had happened? She remembered Cyane, the blood on his shirt, the swelling of his jaw. And then his lies hit her again, and suddenly she didn’t care where he was or what he was doing.

 

Clarke walked to the window, and opened it. She wondered what time it was. People were outside, men were going to work and children kicked a ball around the street. The sun was high in the sky. She figured it was about noon. She groaned and rubbed her eyes. Why had Bellamy let her sleep this late?

 

Then, as if he knew she was thinking about him, he walked toward the house. He had a brown paper bag in his hand, stained with grease. Clarke scurried away from the window and toward the bed, throwing herself into it. Bellamy knocked softly.

“Come in...” She groaned into the pillow.

She heard the click of the door shutting and then footsteps. Then the sound of rustling near her.

“I brought you food.”

 

She jumped up, the room smelled like the contents of the bag, sugary and sweet. Her stomach growled in agreement.

“Thank you,” she said, while snatching the bag into her lap. Inside was a chocolate croissant, at that point she was practically salivating. Bellamy grunted something that sounded like ‘no problem’ and ‘you’re welcome.’

 

She ate quickly, realizing just how hungry she was, as Bellamy rolled the map up and put it into a bag. He took her scroll and carefully placed it into the bag as well. She was glad he didn’t read it. She got up and helped him pack in silence. They moved in sync, packing everything they needed in only a few minutes. Bellamy was not a man of many words, and Clarke was still angry at him for keeping secrets, so they stayed silent. She sighed and sat on the bed one last time.

“I’m gonna miss this bed,” she said, looking around wistfully. She really was, the idea of camping around with Bellamy was not going to be fun.

“Let’s go,” he said, standing in the doorway. Clarke nodded and gave one last rueful glance to her cottage. It was old, rickety, and smelled like dust, but it felt sad to leave. Clarke closed the door behind her, and Bellamy wrapped a chain around the knob and place a lock of some sort.

“It’s just in case we have to come back, I don’t want it to be ransacked,” he explained.

Clarke nodded, it was smart.

 

-

 

Bellamy hated the silence between them, but he had no idea what to say. Nothing would change how mad Clarke was at him. She was quiet as they entered into the woods. Bellamy was thankful that the tall trees provided some shelter from the hot day.

“Where are we going?” She asked, looking more suspicious than curious.

“North,” he pointed at the map, “There’s a town not too far from here, maybe a day’s walk. We could stay there for a few nights.”

She nodded and then bit her lip.

“And where would we go after that?” Her eyes looked like they were already searching the answer before he actually said anything.

“I... am not sure. I suppose we’ll see when we get there,” he sounded wary, because he was. He wanted to know where they would go too.

 

After that, she did not say anything to him. It was obvious that she was still furious, that seemed to be the only emotion she ever felt toward him. He supposed all of it was his fault. He was angry at himself too. Then, she finally broke the silence.

“Why are you keeping things from me?” She spit out, her words were venom.

Bellamy looked at her and shook his head, he wished he could make her understand.

“Clarke... This is for _your_ protection,” he emphasized the part about her. She still looked unconvinced, and even angrier than before.

“Why are you _so_ concerned for my safety? You’re the one that took me away to Hell, and forbid me from leaving!” She stopped to take a breath, then continued, “And you never explained why! I don’t know the first thing about you, yet, you seem to know everything!”

 

Two birds flew off a branch, startled by the volume of Clarke’s voice. Bellamy just shook his head, now he was getting frustrated.

“You’re the one who decided to leave and rip and hole in time and space and...-”

Clarke interrupted him before he could continue.

“Of _course_ I planned to leave! I didn’t want to be there!” She took two steps closer to him, and poked his chest at each word, “I was taken against my will by _you.”_

Bellamy winced at the way she talked about him. She squinted at him, searching for a reaction, an answer. Bellamy bit his lip.

“I brought you to the Underworld to save your life!” He burst out. _Oh gods, now you’ve done it, Bellamy,_ he thought. She blinked, stepping away from him slightly. He knew that face, it was her thinking face.

“Save my life from who?” She was a lot quieter this time, as if she knew the answer already. Bellamy ran a hand through his hair.

“Clarke...” He began, but was cut off but the sound of branches breaking and rustling behind them. They both snapped their heads back. Bellamy slowly reacher for the knife in his pocket and looked around. He put one finger to his mouth, telling Clarke to be silent. She just rolled her eyes.

 

The forest was silent other than the hum of the trees and the light breeze. Then, there was more rustling from behind some bushes. Bellamy walked over slowly, gripping his knife tightly. Clarke stood behind him, on a log, looking around carefully. Then, as if on cue, a little boy emerged from the bushes, giggling maniacally.

“Hebe...” Bellamy was startled at the sight of one of his very own. Hebe was one of his spirits, one of his protectors, who now arrived to kill them. He looked to Clarke, her brows were furrowed, in confusion, and recognition. Bellamy lunged at the spirit, but it was far too quick, and lept out of the way, laughing.

Bellamy tripped, and leaned on a tree for balance. He looked to Clarke, standing on the log, arm extended, with a knife in hand. Bellamy growled and got up.

“Come out, you demon!” He bellowed, his voice echoing through the trees.

Bellamy stepped closed to Clarke, his back facing her. That was his first mistake. Clarke let out a gasp, and Bellamy turned to see Hebe with his blade to her throat. Bellamy flinched, he remembered giving Hebe that knife. He remembered pleading with the witch, _My spirits will protect her._ He was a fool then.  

“Let her go,” he growled. Hebe was grinning and shaking his head. Clarke was looking at Bellamy, her eyes were pleading, desperate. Bellamy saw something he recognized in her eyes, terror. He remembered this look, from the night she was taken. And again, it was his fault. Bellamy took a deep breath, and set his knife down on the ground. He put his hands out.

“Let her go. And I won’t kill you,” he said slowly, emphasizing his empty hands.

 

Hebe said nothing, just looked at Bellamy up and down with his black, beady eyes. He stepped closer to Clarke, pricking her neck till a bead of blood dripped down. Clarke inhaled suddenly, and then stepped on Hebe’s foot. He howled loudly, dropping his knife. Clarke then kneed him in the stomach, he yelped out and stumbled off the log.

 

A grisly _crack_ echoed through the trees, and the boy slumped over a rock.

 

Clarke’s hands shakily slapped over her mouth, he could see tears pooling in her blue eyes. He stepped toward her.

“Clarke.” He said sternly, but she did not look at him. She just shook her head, letting a tear fall loose.

“He’s still alive.”

Bellamy looked at the boy, his head was bleeding profusely, but his fingers were twitching ever so slightly and his chest was rising and falling, barely. Bellamy extended his arm out, keeping Clarke away.

“Just. Let me.”

She shook her head again, more tears falling freely down her cheeks.

“No,” her voice was barely a whisper. She took her knife from the ground, that she had dropped during the fight, and approached the boy slowly. She bent over Hebe, her blonde hair covering her face. She brushed her fingers lightly over his face and then his hair, matted with blood. She sniffled and Bellamy could hear her humming softly. He wanted to stop her, take the knife, take her away from here, take her pain. But he just stayed frozen in place, watching the woman who could make flowers grow in hell, kill something living. It all felt wrong. He looked away, at the branch where those two birds were. He wished more than anything that him and Clarke could be like them, free to fly away from fates decided for them at birth.

 

He looked back at her and she quickly plunged the knife into the boy’s throat, letting out a small gasp. She pulled it out quickly and then threw it toward a tree, as far away from her as possible. She got up, her hands covering her face. They were trembling terribly. Bellamy’s second mistake was not holding them till they stopped.

 

-

 

He didn’t say anything after, he just took her knife and wiped it on some moss, and then put it in his pack. She was glad he didn’t give it back to her, she didn’t think she’d be able to hold it after what she did. They walked in silence, and Clarke kept her head bowed, letting the tears fall down her face. She didn’t care about what Bellamy would think, she didn’t care about being weak around him anymore. She didn’t care about anything anymore. Something inside her had numbed completely. Once they had walked a significant amount away from Hebe’s body, Bellamy set his pack down. He stepped closer to her, trying to meet her eyes, but she couldn’t bear looking at him.

 

Hebe had found them because of her, she came out of the house, he saw she was there. They both almost died. Now Hebe was dead, and his blood was on her hands. A child’s blood. Clarke felt like she might vomit.

“You did what you had to do,” he said, pleading. She just shook her head, it didn’t feel like she had to do that, but she did it anyway. Bellamy turned around and went in search of firewood nearby. She sat on a rock, and tried to even out her breathing.

 

She remembered the whispers in the halls of the palace, giddy servants discussing the strange new woman in the court. They called her Queen of the Underworld, Queen of Death. The names made her sick before, but now, they seemed like more fit titles. Clarke imagined young Bellamy, many centuries ago, crowned the King of the Underworld, his fate to be eternally shadowed by death. A wave of sympathy hit her. She looked at his hands, throwing firewood into a pile. How many times had he washed blood off of them?

 

“Bellamy,” he stopped, dropping the firewood in his hands, “I’m sorry.” He tilted his head, he was confused. She continued, “For acting the way I’ve been acting.”

“Why should you be sorry?” She was confusing him even further, she sighed.

“I just am.” He looked at her, unblinking, and then nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face. He went back to piling the wood. She recalled their argument before Hebe arrived, the question she asked him still itching in the back of her mind.

“Who was trying to kill me?” She said, looking at her hands. She could see dirt and blood under her fingernails. Bellamy stopped.

“If I tell you the truth-”

“Tell me.” She interrupted. She clenched her hands in her lap, and then flattened them onto her knees. Her hands were shaking ever so slightly. Bellamy swallowed before speaking.

 

“Your mother.”

 

The fire crackled, startling the both of them. Clarke’s heartbeat was in her ears, and a sour taste in her mouth had formed. Bellamy bowed his head.

“Please don’t lie to me Bellamy,” she pleaded. He did not meet her eyes, he just stared at his feet. She inhaled sharply, the realization hitting her like a wave. At first, it was just shock, her body frozen in stunned surprise.

“Clarke, it’s a lot more complicated than you know,” Bellamy said, looking anywhere but at her, shame painting his features. She shook her head, the shock in her body hardening into anger.

“Don’t defend her,” she muttered, through gritted teeth. A muscle in Bellamy’s jaw tensed, but he said nothing further.

 

Bellamy threw another piece of wood into the fire, and laid down to sleep, his back facing Clarke. Clarke watched him until his breathing evened out. She crept slowly toward his pack, careful not to wake him. She gingerly reached into his bag and retrieved her scroll.

 

She read it again, and remembered her mother’s voice in her head, how happy she had been. This scroll was just a reminder of her mother’s betrayal. She reread it once more.

 

_Clarke Griffin -_

_I hope this scroll has found you wherever you have end up. Hopefully away from that ghastly king. I miss you dearly my child. But now you are on the run. The Gods are angry with us both. So you must exert caution. When you do find Hades again, it is your duty to kill him, so we can be reunited. I know you will make the right choice my daughter..._

 

The tears in her eyes began to blur her vision, she couldn’t continue. It was all a lie, everything her mother had told her. She looked over at Bellamy’s sleeping form, and then back to the paper. She ripped it into pieces, the tears coming even harder now. Clarke scattered the pieces into the dying embers of the fire, and watched until the last of the pieces burned. The last pieces of her mother, and the last pieces of her old self.

  
Clarke looked to Bellamy once more before falling asleep, a roaring, foreign fire burning in her chest. Revenge, and something else. Something she couldn’t quite explain yet.  


	3. The Renewal of Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demeter smiled at her, the girl was bold. She was much younger than her and perhaps even younger than Persephone, but she walked and talked like she meant business. Demeter admired that about her, it reminded her of herself when she was young.  
> “Leave us,” she said finally, waving a hand up dismissively at the guards. 
> 
> They bowed their heads and left the two Gods in the throne room alone. The two of them alone seemed like the punchline of a bad joke. Hera walked closer to Demeter, sizing her up. She cleared her throat. 
> 
> “This is about my brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, here goes. Um, I was kind of hesitant posting this, considering SO much happens. BUT. Here it is. Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought! The quote in the beginning is by Louise Gluck, from her poem A Myth of Devotion.. oooh.... Enjoy! And follow me on twitter @morleycollins.

 

_“A soft light rising above the level meadow,_

_behind the bed. He takes her in his arms._

_He wants to say I love you, nothing can hurt you_

_but he thinks_

_this is a lie, so he says in the end_

_you’re dead, nothing can hurt you_

_which seems to him_

_a more promising beginning, more true.”_

 

She barely slept, tossing and turning fitfully, twigs and leaves getting caught in her clothes and hair. Sunlight poured through the trees, and birds chirped happily. Much too happily. She rubbed her eyes and looked to Bellamy, he was already awake, looking at the map, his brows knit together. Clarke pushed her hair out of her face, untangling the forest floor that had gotten caught in her hair. Bellamy looked up from his map, and then at her hair, an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Good morning,” He said, putting the map down. She just rolled her eyes and yawned, still working on taking out one stubborn twig. Clarke preferred not to talk much in the morning, and considered herself fully functioning only after noon. Bellamy chuckled softly.

 

“What?” She said, while pulling the twig out of her hair, along with a blonde chunk of hair. She grimaced and threw the twig into the fire pit.

“You look like a górgos,” he commented, smirking. “Well, stop looking at me and maybe I won’t turn you into stone,” she replied quickly, squinting at him. He laughed soundlessly, closing his eyes. It made something flutter in Clarke’s chest. She pushed it away instantly, once realizing she truly did have the whole forest floor in her hair. She bit her lip.

“I actually do need help,” she admitted, twirling a leaf in her fingers before flicking it away. Bellamy grinned walking over. She turned, tucking her legs under her. He sat behind her, and gently started to pull the leaves out of her hair. She gasped when his fingers brushed over her scalp, electricity pulsing through her. Bellamy jerked his hands away from her.

“Oh, sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s fine, continue, please.” And so he did. His hands worked delicately and efficiently, getting out everything that had nestled in her hair.

“All done.”

Clarke ran a hand through her hair, and smoothed down the bits that started to stick out. She smiled at him in appreciation. He just nodded, getting up to look for something in his bag. Clarke’s heart jumped, and she remembered last night, ripping the scroll, watching it burn. She prayed he wouldn’t notice. He didn’t, as far as she could tell. He tossed her something, wrapped in a white cloth. She looked at him, confused.

“Eat, we have to leave soon.”

She opened the cloth carefully, finding a croissant inside. She laughed, shaking her head.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, through bites of the delicious pastry. It was cold, and kind of stale, but she was still grateful. Bellamy munched on what she presumed was a dried piece of meat. Clarke felt like this was the perfect analogy for the both of them.  

 

Once they were done eating, they put the fire out, and left their little makeshift camp. The trail they were following became more unkempt and overgrown as they walked deeper into the wood. The grass nearly came up to Clarke’s knees, but she wasn’t particularly focused on that.

 

Clarke always had a fondness for the woods, more so than any tropical location or beach. It gave her a different feeling entirely, and every spring, it was her first destination. She ached to be able to use her power on Earth, but Bellamy had rambled about how dangerous it would be and that it would just cause trouble.

 

While he walked in front of her, following his map intently, she bent over a patch of grass and did what she did best. The woods were completely quiet except for the sound of their footsteps. She itched to do _something._

 

Her fingertips started to buzz at first, and she hummed contently, she hadn’t been able to use her power in the Underworld. A tiny sprout popped out from the grass, and grew up until it was just about ready to bloom. Clarke closed her fist and the flower popped open, a pink Hibiscus. She grinned, _I still got it_.

She almost tripped over a rock covered by grass trying to catch up, until Bellamy caught her arm, sending the same sparks through her. And the same unwelcome thoughts with them. The rational, calculating part of her figured that this would happen being close to someone else for this long, and that it would pass. The childlike, risk taker part of her, that crawled out of Hell on her hands and knees, wondered if he had felt the sparks too.

 

-

 

She walked always three paces behind, being that she was almost a whole head shorter than him. He saw the town first, well, he saw the signs of the town first, clouds of chimney smoke. He pointed up to them.

“There, that’s where we’re going.” She nodded, following him much quicker now.

 

The town was bigger than the last, and different. The houses were built in organized rows, rigid, like a battalion, ready to shoot down any strange visitors. Bellamy looked to Clarke, who was looking around curiously. She didn’t seem to noticed the strange looks of the people in the town. He took her wrist in his hand, “Pay attention.” She scoffed and pulled her wrist away. Bellamy looked around, him and Clarke needed a place to stay. The town seemed to only have bars and little trinket shops. Bellamy wondered what the humans’ fascination was with drinking anyway. He slumped his shoulders in defeat and looked to Clarke.

 

Except, she was no longer by his side.

 

Panic coursed through his veins, and he felt his throat dry up instantly. He turned around frantically, searching for her mane of yellow hair. But she was nowhere in sight. A fearful thought raced through his mind, _Demeter has found her._ He clenched his fists to his sides, his nails digging into his palms. He walked over to one of the street vendors, a short, balding man.

“Hello, sorry to bother you, but I am looking for—,” Bellamy paused, he didn’t know what to call Clarke, “a blonde girl, short, blue eyes.”

The man blinked twice, startled by Bellamy’s sharp tone of voice. Bellamy was not here to buy, he looked down, tomatoes, so he was surprised. The man nodded, his chins wobbling. He pointed to a store down the street from them, a dark purple storefront, called _Trinkets Galore_. He sighed. He muttered his thanks to the man, and briskly walked to the store. He pushed the door open, perhaps too forcefully, because the door jingled loudly enough to scare every customer in there. A blonde head whipped her head around to face him. Clarke smiled sheepishly, holding a giant purple crystal in her hand. He felt the entire store’s eyes on the both of them as he walked over to her. She gently placed the crystal back on the shelf.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He snapped at her, worry evident in his tone.

“I saw this place, it looked cool, I didn’t think you’d notice,” she replied innocently, blinking her blue eyes at him like a child. His anger began to recede as he took in their surroundings. The shop was crowded with a random assortment of things. There were piles of books, mooseheads lined one wall while bear heads lined the other, engaged in a silent battle. The shelf behind Clarke had crystals and various other rocks and knick knacks on it. Behind the counter in the front of the store was a graying woman, who smiled at everyone that came in.

 

Clarke walked up to her, and they spoke briefly. The woman pointed across the street nodded, and smiled at Clarke. He could hear Clarke thanking her and then she walked back to him, smirking triumphantly.

“What did you talk to her about?”

“I asked her where the nearest hostel was, and it's right across the street! Good thing I came here right?” She remarked, putting a hand on her hip. He rolled his eyes, but followed her out of the store.

 

The hostel was actually the upstairs of a bar, which didn’t surprise Bellamy. The downstairs part was red-bricked, and had tiny windows. Up top was painted periwinkle, a stark difference from the neutrality of the town. Bellamy raised his eyebrows. Clarke pushed the large wooden door of the bar open, and they both had to take a moment for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. This bar was similar to the one in the previous town they were in, except it was much cleaner. A small, bearded man played the accordion in the corner of the bar, nodding at people that put tips into his hat. Clarke sauntered to the bar, where a young woman was working. Clarke got her attention, and she walked to them, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

“Can I help you?” She asked, smiling brightly. It was a stark contrast in the dark bar setting. Her tanned skin glowed in the candlelight.

Clarke smiled back at her and nodded, “Yes, we’re looking for a room,” the woman looked at the both of them, “With two beds, please,” Clarke added. Bellamy made a noise in the back of his throat and Clarke scowled at him. The woman let out a breathy laugh.

“Of course, just one second,” the woman turned and screamed out a man’s name, who yelled back at her. Clarke and Bellamy both jumped, surprised by the volume of her voice.

“Murphy, we have guests, cover for me for like three seconds?” The man nodded, and continued to wipe the bar counter. The woman turned back to them, smiling again, “Follow me.”

 

She led them to a dark blue door in the back of the bar. A white painted staircase was on the other side. The woman went in first, and Clarke and Bellamy followed. “I’m Raven,” she explained, “I kinda run this place, with the help of a few friends of course.”

There was another door at the end of the staircase, this one painted the same periwinkle as the outside of the hostel. A sign was nailed to the door, _Welcome to Arkadia._ Raven pushed the door open, revealing a small lobby of sorts. A boy was behind the concierge desk, dozing off. Raven stomped to the desk, slamming her hand on it. The boy jumped, knocking something over.

 

“Jasper! How many times do I have to tell you to stop falling asleep on the job!” She scolded, the boy turning a bright shade of pink. “I couldn’t sleep last night!” He replied, and then looked to Clarke and Bellamy.

“Who are they? Are they the tax collectors? Are we late again becau-”

“Jasper!” Raven seethed, “They are our _guests._ ” Jasper looked at Raven and then at Bellamy and Clarke, his eyes wide.

“Oh,” he smiled, “Well, sorry about that. We don’t get a lot of guests.”

Clarke just laughed, “It’s perfectly alright.” Clarke walked to the counter, leaning on her elbows, her chin in her hands. She smiled at Jasper, and Bellamy knew the exact smile, because Jasper was blushing again.

 

“One room with two beds, please,” she repeated to him. He nodded, taking out a thick, leather book. He opened it, dust flying out. He coughed before flipping the pages to the back, the amount of names trickling down until he hit a blank page. Jasper dipped his quill in a bottle of ink and wrote the date at the top of the page.

“Names?”

“Clarke Griffin,” Clarke looked to Bellamy, he cleared his throat, “And Bellamy Blake.”

Jasper scribbled their names quickly and blew on the ink till it dried. Raven brushed a hand over Clarke’s arm.

“Let me show you to your room.”

She led them down a sky blue hallway, lined with paintings of flowers and bears. It reminded him of Hera— Octavia, when she was younger. Raven exhaled loudly. She stopped in front of a white door.

“This is your room,” but before she could leave, Clarke touched her shoulder gently, “Is everything alright?”

Raven looked down and then smiled, “Of course.” Clarke’s eyebrow quirked up, she didn’t believe that clearly.

“I mean with you,” her voice was sincere. He admired how much she cared for people she barely knew. He recalled how polite she had been to the servants in the palace while they snickered about her in closed quarters. He had a sour taste in his mouth. Raven sighed, her eyes were sad.

 

Bellamy suddenly felt like he was intruding on their conversation, and he opened the door to their room. Light flooded in from the open windows, and a breeze fluttered the curtains in. Two twin beds were in the middle of the room, a small bedside table dividing them. This was far better than Clarke’s cottage. He sat on the bed closest to the window, stretching his arms up. He couldn’t help but listen in on Clarke and Raven’s conversation.

“Thank you. And you should come down tonight, there’s going to be a band, they’re a hit,” Raven said.

Clarke paused, “We’ll try our best.”

Bellamy turned toward the window, looking at the shop they were in before, and beyond that, the distinct peaks of mountains. Clarke walked into the room and shut the door. She sat on her bed and slipped her shoes off, sighing contently.

“What did Raven say?”

Clarke closed her eyes and yawned, laying on her side, facing Bellamy.

“She’s just stressed out. And she said that we should go downstairs and have fun, she’ll even leave us room at a table with her friends,” she said her eyes twinkling ever so slightly.

“No, Clarke,” he said, watching the twinkle fizzle out, “It’s too dangerous. We’ve already been found twice. It’s best to just steer clear from the humans until we find a way back to where we came from.” Her mouth turned down into a slight frown, Bellamy knew that this was going to turn into an argument. Clarke sat up.

“So, what? I can’t do anything anymore?”

“You’re sounding more and more like them...”

Clarke’s eyebrows shot up, and she scoffed. Bellamy said nothing, he just shook his head. She was acting foolish, naive. She got up and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

 

-

 

Clarke splashed the cold water on her face, willing it to cool down her anger towards Bellamy. She understood that he was just trying to protect them both, but it felt like she was back in the Underworld, under constant watch. She dried her face off on a towel and looked into the mirror. Her face was pale, from all the time in the Underworld, where there was no sun. The sky was a bleak gray during the “day” and a darker shade of gray at “night.” That alone was enough to make any sane person want to escape.

 

Under her eyes was slightly purple, and she looked as tired as she felt. She had lost weight since being taken, her hips and ribs jutting out more than before. She felt like a hollowed out version of her former self, the version of herself that loved and trusted her mother, and pranced through fields of flowers, carefree. Clarke almost laughed out loud remembering who she used to be. Yes, she looked a bit worse for wear right now, but her mind was wiser and she felt stronger. She _escaped_ _Hell,_ for God’s sake, she wasn’t going to let fear hold her back now.

 

She opened the bathroom door, ready to give Bellamy her speech that she prepared 30 seconds before, but the sight of him made the words die on her tongue.

 

He was on his bed, feet crossed, reading a book. He had crooked wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. He looked much older than he actually was, and it was different than the ways she had seen him before. Here he wasn’t guarded or teasing, he was simply reading. She cleared her throat and crossed her arms over her chest, forcing a serious expression on her face. Bellamy looked up slowly, his face expressionless.

“I’m going out, tonight,” she stated, matter-of-factly, “You can’t keep me locked up, Bellamy.” He put his book down, and set his glasses on the bedside table. He rubbed his eyes.

“Fine,” he mumbled, taking his hands away from his face. “I never meant for you to feel like you were...” He shook his head, “I can’t stop you, I know this. Just, take your knife, okay?”

 

She faltered, remembering how she plunged into into Hebe’s neck, the dull thud as she threw it against a tree. He looked at her for a moment, before getting up and retrieving something from his pack. He turned and placed it in her hand. It was his knife, with its long curved blade and black handle, perhaps the only thing he brought from the Underworld.

“I can’t take this,” she urged, “It’s...It’s yours.” She tried to give it back to him but he crossed his arms.

“The only way you’re giving that back to me is if you stab me with it,” he mused, grinning. She shook her head and looked at the knife, on its blade was inscribed a quote, but the words were too small to read.

“Death does not concern us, because as long as we exist, death is not here. And when it does come, we no longer exist.”

Clarke looked up, and he smiled sheepishly.

“A quote by Epicurus.”

“I thought you didn’t care for the humans,” she asked, tracing the letters.

“Well, I don’t, not particularly,” he paused, and then admitted, “But he was one of the wisest.” He looked almost embarrassed at his admission, as if one of the Gods was going to come and strike him down for saying so. Clarke felt like this was a victory in its own right.

She put the knife through the sheath on her thigh and smiled gratefully. She was glad she didn’t have to take her own knife. Clarke walked out of their room and closed the door softly. The war between them had come to a ceasefire, for now.

 

On her way downstairs Clarke almost slammed into Raven, causing them both to stagger backwards. “Woah, watch where you’re going,” Raven scolded playfully, holding onto Clarke’s elbows. Clarke felt her cheeks getting hot. “Sorry about that.” Raven smiled, and then looked Clarke up and down.

“Are you coming down tonight?” She asked, a gleam in her brown eyes. Clarke nodded. Raven smiled wider now, but it fell quickly. “Not in that outfit, right?”

 

Clarke looked down, her tunic was stained with blood and dirt, and ripped from their encounter with Hebe. Her boots were scuffed and caked with mud. She blushed again, embarrassed at her poor social ques. Her mother would have scolded her.

“Well, I don’t really have much else,” she said, chewing her lip nervously. Raven grabbed her hand, “Follow me.”

 

So she did. Raven led her to her room, down the hall from her. The walls were a dark red and it was smaller than Clarke and Bellamy’s. One large window illuminated the cluttered room. It wasn’t messy per se, there was just a lot of _stuff._ In one corner was a work bench, with scraps of metal and various tools piled high. An inventor’s desk. In another corner was another desk, this one much more organized than the other, papers and pens organized neatly. Above the desk was a large map, poked with pins in various locations of the world. Raven walked toward a large wooden closet and opened it. She started taking out various shirts and pants, throwing them all onto her unmade bed.

“Try these all on for size, I’m going to go see if Jasper has fallen asleep on the job again,” she teased with a smirk, before closing the door, leaving Clarke alone.

 

Clarke looked at the shirts, they all looked so _small._ Raven wasn’t necessarily frail, Clarke could see the girl was all muscle, but Clarke was the exact opposite. She was soft where Raven was toned, and Clarke had a much fuller chest.

 

She was right about all of the shirts being too small. They might not have been that bad, she might have been exaggerating, but it felt like in one swift motion her shirt would tear in half. And upon getting dressed, she realized that there was no way to properly hide Bellamy’s knife. She’d have to figure it out later. She blew a piece of hair away from her face in frustration and looked back into the mirror. Clarke wasn’t necessarily modest, but she wasn’t necessarily flashy either. Her mother kept her in check, told her how to dress, how to act, who to be.

 

Raven knocked on the door softly, breaking Clarke’s train of thought. “Come in,” she croaked out. Raven wolf-whistled.

“See that’s so much better!” Raven walked over to her, putting her hands on her shoulders and turning her to face the mirror. “Bellamy’s gonna go nuts.”

Clarke turned a frightful shade of red before shaking her head, laughing nervously. “Me and Bellamy aren’t—,” Clarke paused, “We’re just, well, I guess it’s kind of complicated what we are. Partners, I suppose. But not romantic at all, strictly platonic. A co-leader ship if you will. And he’s not even coming down.” Clarke was rambling now, she didn’t know if she was trying to convince Raven or herself more.

Raven was blushing now, embarrassed by her awkward mistake. “I’m sorry, I just thought, I don’t know, he seems so, _protective_ , over you.”

 

Clarke couldn’t help the smile forming on her lips. “He’s always like that.” Raven nodded, and then looked to the pile of shirts on the bed. “So have you decided which one to wear?”

Clarke looked down at the blue one she was wearing now, it was the one that exposed the least amount of cleavage. The black jeans Raven lent her fit surprisingly well, but Clarke contributed that to her lost weight. “This is fine.” Raven nodded, and tossed Clarke a black cardigan. “It gets cold, downstairs, the door is always opening and closing.” Clarke put it on and Raven grabbed her red jacket, the same color of the walls, before opening the bedroom door.

 

“Ready to have some fun, Clarke?” Raven said, her mouth lifting into her classic smirk. It reminded her a lot of Bellamy.

“I can be fun,” she retorted, following Raven down the hall. She could hear voices downstairs and glasses clinking. She walked past her and Bellamy’s room, hesitating slightly, before briskly following Raven down the white staircase.

 

The sound of people got progressively louder once they reached the bottom of the stairs. Raven opened the door, revealing a much different bar than the one she had seen before.

 

It was _alive._ Every booth was filled to the brim, with people laughing and singing along to whatever song was playing. The bartenders worked quickly and in sync, moving like a well oiled machine. Clarke looked to Raven, she could tell this was by far her greatest invention.

 

Raven grabbed Clarke by the wrist, leading her to the biggest booth in the corner of the bar. Clarke recognized Jasper among the group sitting there, but the rest were strangers. Jasper nodded to her, and then took a swig of his beer. Raven cleared her throat loudly. The group silenced, turning to the two girls. Clarke prayed to every God above that she didn’t look as nervous as she felt.

 

She could think of a million stories of the humans that the Gods told her. That they were greedy, sex-hungry, deviants, who only did things for themselves. Clarke started to think that wasn’t true a long time ago, upon meeting a lot of Gods and titans who fit that description more so than any human she had met. And she hadn’t met a lot of humans. “Everyone, this is Clarke. Clarke, this is everyone.” They all mumbled out a hello, and squeezed closer together, leaving room for Clarke and Raven.

 

The group composed of four men, one of which was working at the bar, Murphy, and three women, including Raven. Jasper and Monty were best friends, finishing each other’s jokes and drinks. Miller was brooding, but listened intently whenever Monty rambled about something with his scientific research. Clarke suspected there was more than met the eye between those two.

 

Harper and Monroe were the two other girls, and they always had a lot to say. They seemed to be the ones doing the heaviest drinking, and even ran away giggling to dance. Clarke was overwhelmed by how _welcoming_ they all were. They asked a lot of questions, but it was nothing Clarke couldn’t handle.

“So, Clarke,” Jasper began, “What’s with you and that guy? He looks like a real hoot,” he teased sarcastically. Clarke barked out a laugh. “He is quite the opposite actually. That’s Bellamy, he’s a friend.” Jasper’s eyebrows shot up.

“So, that means you’re single?” He said, leaning in closer to her, before giggling wildly. He was incredibly drunk. The whole group started to laugh along with him.

 

Murphy, the last piece of the group came to their booth, sliding into Harper and Monroe’s empty space, “Are you assholes drunk enough yet? Or do I need to bring something stronger?” Miller shoved him. Murphy looked to Clarke, his brows raised in suspicion.

“Who’s this?” He asked, looking to the group.

“Clarke,” Raven replied instantly, “She’s cool.” Murphy nodded.

“Can I get you something Clarke? I think you’re by far the most sober person in this whole building.” Clarke remembered Bellamy and his nose buried in his book.

“I’m not sure about that,” she replied.

“Oh come on, Clarke,” Jasper said, drawing out her name, “Everything is ten times better when you’re drunk.”

Clarke frowned. She wondered just how old Jasper was. Murphy looked at her expectantly. She sighed.

“Alright,” she leaned back in the booth, “Bring me your best.” Murphy smirked and slapped the table before getting up. “You got it.”

 

Clarke had only gotten drunk once before, her second night at Bellamy’s palace. She didn’t leave her room all day. When the sky turned its dreary dark color, she snuck wine into her room secretly, and cried and drank herself to sleep. She didn’t even use a glass. That drunk was full of hurt and pain, and more than anything, the urge to forget. Forget where she was, who she was with, forget the smell of daffodils on the first day of spring.

 

This drunk, was different, it bloomed out warm and happy throughout her body. Jasper was right, everything was ten times better. Clarke felt like she had in that dream in the tub, free. Her fingers and toes buzzed happily, and laughter came easier and louder. Her nerves had dissipated completely. Raven was buzzed too, but not as drunk as Clarke was. The whole group seemed to be incredibly amused by the blonde, who was a loud drunk.

 

Clarke even pulled Raven out to the dance floor, and stumbled with her clumsily. No one seemed to notice, and they all moved in rhythm with the drums and guitars. Raven spun Clarke into the arms of a husky bearded man and that’s how it went for a while, Clarke twirling around the dance floor, laughing into the shoulders of strangers.

 

Out of breath, she walked out of circle and to the bar, where Murphy was preoccupied with another person. Clarke started to laugh and then slammed her hand on the counter. “One more!” She hiccuped, leaning onto the bar for support. The warmness in her body began to fade.

Murphy shook his head. “You’ve had enough, Clarke.” Clarke pouted and turned on her doe eyes, which always seemed to work with her father.

 

But Murphy did not budge. Clarke huffed, annoyed and turned to go back to the bar. The blue door to the upstairs hostel was slightly ajar. Clarke looked down at her shirt, it clung to her body from the sweat. She figured she’d go change and check on Bellamy.

 

Clarke did not think about the stairs, only putting one foot in front of the other, which was already a challenge. The stairs were practically mocking her, and swayed ever so slightly every time she blinked. Clarke could do this, they were just stairs. She gripped the wall and took one step, she smiled triumphantly. _See, this isn’t that hard,_ she thought. She took a second, then third step.

 

She only fell when she reached the last step, almost hitting her chin on the door nob. She hissed, her knees still tender from when she fell back in the Underworld. Clarke opened the door harshly, causing the _Welcome to Arkadia_ sign to sway side to side.

 

She stumbled into the hallway, which was now tilting and swaying slowly. She knocked on their door, but no answer. She opened it to see Bellamy had fallen asleep, book on his chest, glasses resting on his freckled nose. She felt bad waking him, but he couldn’t miss all this fun.

 

She walked over, not noticing the stool in front of his bed, and tripped, landing on him.

 

Bellamy awoke with a start, ready to fight whoever had awoken his slumber. Clarke started to giggle into his chest, slapping it lightly. She was gasping for breath now, it was just all too funny. Bellamy’s hair was a disheveled mess, and he looked grumpy, as he always did. He stiffened under Clarke. After Clarke had finally stopped laughing, she looked up at him.

“Come downstairs,” she slurred, “Dance with me.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows crooked together, taking in her drunkenness. Clarke could see he was assessing how much she exactly had to drink. She stopped counting a while ago.

“No, you should sleep,” he said roughly, “You’re terribly drunk.”

Clarke started to laugh again, burying her nose into his shirt. He smelled clean, he must have bathed while she was gone. Then she looked up, her expression pleading.

“Please,” she begged, “Just for two songs, and then I’ll come upstairs.”

 

Bellamy looked at her like he might have been considering it, but he quickly went back to the same grumpy expression as before. “No,” he answered finally, “I’m not getting drunk with the humans. And you’ve already made the mistake. You’re so careless, Clarke.” She pushed herself off of him and carefully got up, wobbling. The absence of his warmth made her shiver.

“Fine,” she replied coldly, “I’m going back downstairs then.”

Bellamy sat up, running a hand through his mussed hair. “Clarke, wait.” She slammed the door before she could hear whatever else he had to say.

 

Going down the stairs proved to be much harder than going up. Clarke’s body was no longer warm and tingly, but trembling and cold. Clarke clung to the rails for dear life and went down slowly. The music was just as raucous as before, the night had only just begun. Before Clarke went back into the bar, Raven opened the door. She smiled, “Hey, I was just looking for you,” her words slurring.

 

Clarke blinked. “Yeah, I was just checking on Bellamy.” Raven nodded and hummed, not particularly listening.

She wet her lips, and before Clarke knew it, Raven was kissing her against the wall. And surprisingly, Clarke was kissing her back.

 

-

 

Bellamy should have known better than to let Clarke go downstairs with the humans. It’s just, the way she _looked_ at him, turned him into clay in her hands. He cursed himself for letting her get to him. She had been doing that since the day they met.

 

He was the one to lead the mission to find her, and trap her. It was not easy, Demeter had her daughter heavily guarded at all times of the day. Keeping her from being killed, until she could do it herself. Bellamy still shuddered at the thought. He remembers her confusion, how she woke up and stared at the grey sky and then at him. How her voice cracked when she asked where she was. He remembers her cries when he closed the door and walked away, leaving her to answer her own questions.

 

He got up from the bed, stretching his sore muscles. Bellamy placed his glasses on the table and rubbed his eyes. The last thing he wanted was for Clarke to feel like she was trapped in the Underworld again, but he didn’t want her dead either. That thought scared him more.

 

When she had fallen on top of him, her face had more color than he had ever seen, and her _laugh._ A part of him ached to hear it again, to be the cause of it, and he figured he’d be thinking about it until then. Bellamy was glad she could forget about Hebe, and just be able to laugh, but he feared her relations to the humans. He feared that she’d let something slip and get their throats slit before morning.

 

Bellamy strode to the door and then down the hall. He was annoyed with her, but not angry. He already knew that a fight was brewing between them again. He wondered when the cycle would stop. Bellamy opened the door to the staircase, and suddenly wished he hadn’t.

 

Clarke was at the bottom of the stairs, _kissing Raven._

 

Bellamy didn’t understand the wave of emotions that hit him in that moment. He felt like a snake had coiled around his stomach, slithering its way into his throat. He was frozen in place, his hand tightening harder and harder against the doorknob until it broke off, and rolled down the stairs.

 

Raven jumped off of Clarke and both women looked up at him. Raven looked like a child, caught doing something she shouldn’t be, while Clarke looked absolutely mortified. Bellamy urged himself to say _something._ No words came out.

“Bellamy,” Clarke shouted, “Bellamy, wait.” He heard her start up the stairs.

 

He did not wait. He walked back into their room, slamming the door shut on her just as she did to him.

 

\---

 

The grapes this harvest season were absolutely awful. She blamed it on Persephone’s absence, she hated to admit it but the girl was good at what she did. Demeter dropped the grape she was holding, and pushed the plate away from her.

“Take this away from me,” she barked to one of her servants. They hurriedly took the plate away muttering a “Yes, your Majesty.”

 

The palace doors opened, and the guards puffed out their chests and held out their weapons. It was only Hermes, and she waved her hand out ordering the guards to stand down. Hermes clutched the scrolls in his arms tighter, and walked toward Demeter at her throne.

“Any news?”

Hermes stared at his feet, but did not say anything.

“Answer me!” She bellowed, causing the whole room to fall silent.

“My apologies your Majesty, but, Cyane and Hebe are dead. The line has been silent for a few days now,” he sputtered out.

Demeter sighed and pinched the space in between her eyebrows. Hermes looked like he might collapse. She had the overwhelming urge to snap his neck right there, but decided against it. He was a shaky little thing, but good at his job.

“Well, do we have any reports on her location?” She asked finally. Hermes just shook his head. She exhaled loudly. This was going to take a lot more than a few spirits.

“You may leave Hermes, but gather some more men, we’re going to need as many people as possible. Earth is only _so_ big.” Hermes grinned and nodded, running out of the palace doors.

 

Demeter looked around the throne room, all of this _hers._ She worked her way here, she gathered all her riches, and became one of the most powerful Gods in all the Heavens. She wouldn’t dare let Persephone take this from her. A servant walked in hurriedly, breaking Demeter’s train of thought. The girl bowed her head at Demeter.

“What is it?”

“You have a visitor, your Majesty.” She replied, her voice small. Demeter wasn’t expecting anyone else today.

“Who?” She asked curiously.

The girl replied quickly, “Hera, your Majesty.”

 

The palace doors opened, and right on cue, Hera strode in. Her black hair was intricately braided, and her light blue gown starkly contrasted with the golds and reds of Demeter’s palace. Hera had a stony expression, she was here to talk business.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure, Hera?”

Hera looked around to the guards at the door, annoyed. “Can you please get them to leave?”

 

Demeter smiled at her, the girl was bold. She was much younger than her and perhaps even younger than Persephone, but she walked and talked like she meant business. Demeter admired that about her, it reminded her of herself when she was young.

“Leave us,” she said finally, waving a hand up dismissively at the guards.

 

They bowed their heads and left the two Gods in the throne room alone. The two of them alone seemed like the punchline of a bad joke. Hera walked closer to Demeter, sizing her up. She cleared her throat.

 

“This is about my brother.”

 

\---

 

He was pacing the room, trying to calm his rapid heartbeat. Anger swirled in him like a rising tide, threatening to drown him. Then she walked in, closing the door gently, and he stopped. She looked a sickly pale color, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at her, and he quickly realized that this would cause his inevitable defeat. He looked toward the mountain peaks outside the window instead.

“What were you thinking?” He said, his voice gravelly. He sounded more tired than frustrated. He turned back to her, she was sitting at the foot of her bed, staring at the ground.

“Bellamy...” She scrubbed her face and sighed, “I’m sorry, but, I’m so fucking drunk. I can’t fight right now.”

“No,” he replied instantly, shaking his head, “We’re doing this now.”

She groaned, taking a pillow and hugging it to her chest.

“Clarke,” he began, unsteady, “Haven’t you learned anything about humans?”

She just blinked at him, and then to his surprise, she started to laugh. She hunched over, shoulders shaking, _laughing,_ in the middle of their argument. “You’re jealous,” she managed, in between gasps of breath.

 

He rolled his eyes, maybe this argument would have to wait until morning. “No, I’m not,” he replied mechanically.

 

Then she got up slowly, her knees shaking. She walked toward him, the smile fading from her face. “Then why does it matter so much?”

He blinked, stunned by the question. Here she was again, picking inside his brain. She was close enough that he could smell the alcohol on her breath. He shifted his weight, considering his next move.

But before he could say anything else, Clarke darted to the bathroom and threw up. Now it was his turn to laugh. He walked to the window, and looked at the people going in and out of the bar. Clarke’s bed creaked, she was sitting on it now, her arms around her sides.

 

Her neck and chest were slick with sweat, and she was shaking slightly. He hated seeing her like this, but it was her own fault. And from what he saw of his servants and the people outside, she was probably going to feel way worse in the morning. He saw her cheeks were stained with tears. He looked away and sighed.

“What the fuck is going on Bellamy?” She asked finally, her voice strained. It reminded him of that first night. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and opened them. More tears were falling down her face.

“What are you talking about?” He already knew, but he needed to hear it.

“With us. You’re acting like we’re—,” she bit her lip, “Like we’re something more than just partners.”

That stung. He just shook his head, “Why does it matter so much?” He echoed, covering the hurt in his voice with pure malice. Clarke blinked, letting two more fresh tears fall.

“It matters to me!” She snapped, “Because I don’t know!”

His heartbeat started to quicken again, different this time. Nervous. “Don’t know what?”

Clarke swallowed and then wiped her tears away. “How I feel.”

 

He froze, again, at a loss for words. She had him in a corner, completely defenseless. It made him itch, he didn’t like it at all. “Go to sleep, Clarke,” he muttered, walking to his bed. Her blue eyes had no light in them. She looked like she might have said something else, but decided against it. She pulled herself under the covers and turned, her back facing him. He sighed and blew out the candle, leaving them in complete darkness.

 

He tried to sleep, he did. But from the noise downstairs, to the noise in his head, that seemed unlikely. He opened his eyes and looking at Clarke’s sleeping form, only the moonlight illuminating her.

“Clarke...” He paused, “You awake?”

 

She said nothing. Disappointed, Bellamy got up, laced up his boots and grabbed his jacket. He couldn’t stay in the room any longer, he felt like he might suffocate. He left their room, stomped down the hallway and down the stairs, pushed himself through the bar and down into the moonlit street.

 

-

 

Clarke was awake, and Bellamy was gone. It was still dark out, and the party downstairs was slowly dying out. She got up, he hadn’t taken his pack, so he left briefly. _Good,_ she thought, _I couldn’t bear to have another fight._ She stretched, and realized just how _thirsty_ she was. Her mouth was dry, and the faint taste of whiskey on her tongue made her feel nauseous again.

 

Her head was pounding as well, but that wasn’t as important. Clarke figured she’d go to the shared kitchen, get a glass of water, go to bed, and then wake up and argue with Bellamy again. As if it were routine. But Raven was sitting in the kitchen, on the windowsill, smoking something. Clarke recognized the smell of burning tobacco.

“You know that’s bad for you, right?” She said, startling Raven. She looked away immediately, back out the window. She stumped the cigarette out in a potted plant next to the window.

“Clarke, I’m really sorry. For you know, what I did back there,” she shook her head, “I always fucking do this.”

Clarke leaned on the counter, her legs were still shaky. She sighed. “Raven, it’s fine, really. And what do you mean, that you always do this?”

Raven leaned her head back onto the windowsill, closing her eyes. “Ever since she broke up with me.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter anymore, it’s over.” Raven opened her eyes, they drooped with exhaustion.

“It clearly still matters, Raven, you need, closure of some sort.”

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Raven looked up to the ceiling, her eyes misty, “So I get drunk and do stupid shit to forget about it.” She looked to Clarke, smiling despite the pain in her voice. Clarke had only known Raven for about twelve hours, but she could see she was incredibly strong. And had gone through far too much.

 

Clarke poured them both glasses of water and Raven scooted, making room for her on the windowsill. Clarke chugged from the glass, eliciting a scoff from Raven. Clarke wiped her mouth.

“You’re not the only one that does stupid shit when they’re drunk.”

Raven lifted an eyebrow, “Trouble in paradise?” Clarke pushed her.

“Don’t say that,” she replied defensively. Raven rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, Clarke.”

“You’re not that oblivious, are you?”

Clarke didn’t understand. She just stared back at her. Raven put her cup down.

“He cares about you, a lot...” She paused, biting her lip. “I heard some of the fighting.”

Clarke choked on the water she was drinking. She put the cup down next to Raven’s.

“What did you hear?” She replied defensively.  

“Not much, I swear... I saw him leave.”

Clarke nodded, looking down into the street. People were leaving the bar in groups, the drunks being carried by the sober people. Raven nudged her and pulled something out of her boot. _Bellamy’s knife._

“You left this in my room...” Clarke took the knife from her quickly. Raven put her hands up.

“Look, I don’t know what you were doing with it, but when you’re ready to tell me. I’ll be here.”

 

Clarke nodded. She wanted to tell Raven, she could help them somehow. But she couldn’t, at least not yet. Raven didn’t push the subject further, so the girls sat in comfortable silence. The sky had started to lighten, a bleak purple color, and then pink and orange. The sun was rising and Bellamy still wasn’t back yet. An irrational thought seized her, _He’s been taken. By my mother._ Raven noticed.

“He’ll be back, he’s just pissed,” she yawned, “I’m going to sleep, I have to get up and clean in a few hours.” Clarke knew Raven was right, he was just angry.

 

But something felt _wrong._

 

\---

 

Demeter couldn’t say she was surprised, maybe only surprised she hadn’t come sooner. “And what about him?”

“I want you to guarantee he will not be harmed,” Hera stated as confidently as she could muster. Demeter made her skin crawl.  

“I can’t guarantee that. He has my daughter, wherever the hell they are.”

“The daughter you were trying to kill,” Hera replied immediately. Demeter stood up.

“Where the hell are you hearing this from?” She ordered, her face getting red. Hera crossed her arms.

“I see things, I hear things.”

Demeter squinted at her and then sat back down, shaking her head. “You’re foolish, girl. You don’t know the first thing about this.”

Hera stepped closer. “Oh but I do, and so will all the servants, Titans and the Gods, if you hurt him.”

 

Demeter squinted at her, mulling the words over.

“This is bound to cause an uproar, you’ll have a mutiny on your hands. You’ll be banished.”

“Tell me what you know, then.”

 

Hera looked around the room, she had acquired many riches since Karmanor’s death. Hera didn’t have to guess that she was behind that as well.

“I know Persephone has powers beyond what she’s _supposed to_. I know she can heal, and even beyond that. Her powers far outweigh—”

“Silence!” Demeter was practically fuming now. “He’s protecting her. I want him dead.”

“I can’t let you kill him.”

Demeter stood up, and walked to Hera. Hera balled her fists by her side.

“Why is he protecting her?” She sneered. Hera shrugged.

“How am I supposed to know?” She spit back, an obvious lie.

Hera knew why, and it hurt her probably as much as it was hurting him. Demeter stepped back and sat on her throne.

“Get out.” She ordered. Hera didn’t move. “I said get out!”

The doors opened, and the guards filed in. “You won’t kill him. You won’t kill either of them.”

Demeter smirked, clearly unconvinced, “And why is that?”

 

Hera walked to the doorway, and smirked just as menacingly. “Because, I am going to find them first.” She slammed the door behind her.

 

\---

 

Clarke went back to bed shortly after Raven went, and slept just fine. She woke up, her head still hurt, but other than that she was feeling at lot better than she had last night. Then she looked at Bellamy’s empty bed. He was still gone. Clarke felt like this would be the appropriate time to start getting worried.

 

Their argument before he left echoed in her mind. Clarke wished that she could sense something of what Bellamy was feeling. He always kept himself closed off. And now she’d never be able to get the chance to know. She put on her shoes and changed her clothes.

 

The entire group from last night was in the kitchen, eating breakfast around a small, crowded table. Harper and Monroe sat on the windowsill. They saw her first.

“Clarke!” They squealed in unison, “Eat with us!”

Monty, who was frying at the stove, shoved a plate of food into her hand. Clarke set it down on the counter.

“Raven?” Raven looked up from her plate, “Can I talk to you?” She nodded, pushing her chair out and almost scraping over Murphy’s toes. “Nobody eat my food while I’m gone.”

 

Clarke pulled her into the hallway, the worry had manifested now into pure fear. Fear for Bellamy’s life.

“I’m worried about Bellamy.”

“He’s not back yet?” Now she looked worried.

“No, and he didn’t pack anything either.”

Raven bit her lip, she was thinking. “Well, let’s look for him then.”

Clarke nodded, that eased her nerves slightly. Raven walked back into the kitchen and ordered them all to be quiet. She had a talent for commanding the whole room’s attention.

“We have to help Clarke.”

“With what?” Jasper spoke up, through bites of food.

Clarke spoke up. “Bellamy. He’s been missing since last night.”

Jasper stopped chewing and looked at the rest of the group. “Yeah, I’ll help.” Everyone nodded along with him.

 

They left not long after, and bombarded Clarke with even more questions. Jasper and Raven were the only ones who knew what he looked like, so they explained it to the rest of the group. Clarke strode ahead of everyone, and they found themselves back in the market square. Murphy caught up to her.

“So, is he the type to just get up and leave?”

Clarke stopped. He wasn’t. “No, that’s precisely why I’m so worried.”

“Why do I have a feeling you’re both running from something?”

 

Before Clarke could stammer out a response, a elderly woman ran toward them, looking frazzled. She stopped and held onto Clarke’s arms, panting. Clarke recognized her, it was the woman from the trinket shop.

“Miss, miss can you tell us what happened?” Murphy pleaded. The woman was shaking her head, she looked like she had seen a ghost. Clarke worried that maybe she had. She pointed to Clarke.

“It’s...him...” She coughed, “The man you were with. You’re looking for him. He’s there, he’s... he’s—”

Clarke looked to the store, the door was wide open. Bellamy was right under their noses. Typical. She looked to Murphy. “Stay with her.” He nodded and she took off running.

 

The store was a mess, everything on shelves was now on the floor. Broken glass was everywhere. Bellamy was there, on the floor, books and broken trinkets on top of him. She rushed to him and bent down, ignoring the stinging of broken glass scraping her legs. Bellamy was ebbing in and out of consciousness. Clarke lightly brushed the glass away from his face. She studied his body for any outward signs of injury. Then she saw his ears, bleeding profusely. She cursed, and then ripped her shirt to collect some of the blood. She thought about using her power, to help him. But she could hear Murphy and Raven nearby, it was too risky. He started to cough.

“Shh...” She urged, pulling glass out of his hair.

He opened his eyes, squinting at the light. He started to wheeze again, he was trying to say something. He could barely keep his eyes open.

“What is it?” Clarke put a hand on the side of his face. She repeated, more urgently, “Bellamy? What is it?”

“They’re...coming,” he murmured, “Demeter—”

 

And then he was out again.


	4. Ápeiro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But she knew what he was trying to say, and he didn’t even have to say it. They spoke at the speed of light, without even opening their mouths. Blue and brown. Light and dark.
> 
> Clarke closed the gap between them even more until their faces were mere inches apart. His dark eyes were unreadable, but Clarke felt a tear escape one of hers. Bellamy put his hand on her cheek, brushing it away. She put a trembling hand right under his jaw. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out, “For keeping me alive.” It didn’t feel like enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man this is super late, and I'm very sorry, but here's Chapter 4! This was a very interesting chapter to write, I played around with all the relationships in the story a bit. I hope you all enjoy and please leave a comment/kudos. The title is the Greek word for 'infinity.' The quote is by Cecilia Woloch. :)

_ "Mother I'll never wake up from him,  _

_ I have already traveled too far. _

_ My mouth is the color of his mouth _

_ and his arms are no longer his arms; _

_ they're mute as smoke, as my first white dress, _

_ and the spear of his name, once ferocious, _

_ dissolves on my tongue _

_ like sugar, like birdsong. I whisper it: _

_ Hades."  _

_ - _

Clarke kept repeating his name, but nothing. He was unconscious. She worried he’d have a concussion, he shouldn’t be asleep with one. That’s what the healer had told her long ago when she first knew something was different.

 

One day, when delivering her meals a servant had cut herself on something sharp and was bleeding profusely. She would bleed out in seconds if Clarke hadn’t panicked and in a flash of warm light, healed her. It left a pretty nasty scar. The servant was bewildered but did not say anything about her power. Demeter had her executed anyway. 

 

Murphy and Raven walked into the shop, and then Jasper and Monty. Miller and the girls were on their way. That’s when Clarke saw Jasper holding a wheelbarrow. She looked at the rest of the group, they looked just as curious. Jasper set the wheelbarrow down. 

 

“Well, how else are we going to carry him?” He stated matter-of-factly. Monty and Murphy nodded in agreement. Raven looked like she wanted to slap them all. More so than usual. She walked over to Clarke and kneeled next to her, hissing at the glass piercing her knees. 

 

“What happened?” She asked, scanning the room. 

Clarke didn’t know, all she knew was that they were in danger. “I don’t know. He passed out before I could ask.”

Raven nodded and then squinted at Bellamy like she was trying to figure out a particularly difficult math problem. “His ears,” she pointed at them, “Why are they bleeding?”

 

Clarke froze. She had a very good idea why they were bleeding, one of the Gods or spirits had come into contact with him. Which means  _ they’re coming _ . But who? Clarke shrugged, trying to downplay her clear anxiety. Raven almost bought it. 

 

Jasper wheeled the wheelbarrow to them, crushing things that might have been salvaged before. Clarke saw the woman who owned the store staring in horror. Clarke checked Bellamy again for any other injuries, but she did not find any. Instead, she noticed a locket clasped in his hand. She took it from him gently, as if he were to wake at any second. It was a gold heart, with vines wrapped around it. She had tried it on the first time she went into the shop. He must have noticed. The rest of the group carefully stepped into the store, and Clarke stuffed the locket into his pocket. 

 

Murphy counted to three and the group heaved him into the wheelbarrow. Bellamy’s head lolled to the side. Raven barked out a laugh. Jasper and Murphy manned the wheelbarrow while Raven and Clarke led them back into the bar. Raven pulled one of the long tables out and more towards the door. Miller brought a first aid kit from behind the bar. 

 

Again, on a count of three, they lifted Bellamy on the table. Monroe slipped a pillow under his head. Clarke couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous he looked. He looked like a princess, waiting to be kissed for her spell to be broken. She’d have to make fun of him about it later. If he made it. 

 

Raven went to the door and flipped the Open sign to Closed and slammed it. The group jumped. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. 

 

Bellamy’s face was starting to swell, his eyebrow had a nasty cut through it and his ears were still bleeding. Clarke knew he’d heal, but it was taking much longer than she thought it would. By the time he did wake up, the effects could be detrimental. Clarke had to do something now. 

 

The rest of the group looked at her expectantly. Clarke glanced at the medical kit, which also seemed to stare at her, mockingly. Like it was saying,  _ Why couldn’t you just be like everyone else? _

 

Clarke shook her head and tried to calm herself down. Bellamy’s chest rose and fell slowly. Clarke looked to Raven, and she nodded slightly. Clarke closed her eyes and gently splayed her hand on Bellamy’s chest. His heartbeat thumped in rhythm with hers, and she listened, feeling her fingertips start to buzz. Now everyone was looking at her like she was insane, and she probably was.

 

Clarke didn’t have much experience with healing, as she wasn’t  _ supposed to have any.  _ Demeter forbade Clarke to use her power until they could learn more about what it meant. They visited many people, mostly at night, sometimes in disguises. Clarke was never included in the conversations, she merely stood there, like some type of circus animal. 

 

When Clarke was young and fully aware of how different she was, she went against her mother’s wishes. First, Demeter didn’t let Clarke leave their palace unattended. This was easily overcome, by simply bribing the guards. Second, she strictly forbade Clarke from using this power in front of others, Gods and humans alike. They would kill her, she had said. And here she was, years later, breaking her mother’s rules again. It was more of a buzz than any alcohol could provide.

 

Clarke could feel the whole room’s eyes on her, either in shock or disgust. That’s what usually happened with her mother and her advisors when they looked on. Her neck and chest were hot with shame. 

 

Jasper stared in awe, and Raven’s mouth was ajar. The group remained silent, however, as Clarke gently traced her hands to Bellamy’s head, listening to the weak beat of his ear drums and the thump of his brain sending signals to heal him. Clarke’s hand practically glowed in the dark bar, and she hoped she was doing this right. A wrong move and she could stop his heart. Clarke, with butterfly fingers, traced over his eyes and face, over his freckles and dimple in his chin, and back to his chest. 

 

She opened her eyes. The whole process, of healing someone, was likewise as healing to her. She felt on fire, her whole body alight with adrenaline. Murphy stepped closer to Bellamy, and stared at him and then Clarke curiously. Nothing was happening. Clarke felt like she was doused with ice. 

 

_ I couldn’t save him.  _

 

Her pulse began to rise rapidly, and she jerked her hands away from his chest. The image of them painted with Hebe’s blood was permanently stained in her brain. Bellamy was gone, he was gone and it was her fault. She fought with him, and he left and now she couldn’t even save him. Now she was alone. She could almost hear her mother’s laughter. 

 

_ When you do find Hades again, it is your duty to kill him, so we can be reunited. I know you will make the right choice my daughter... _

 

And then, his dark lashes fluttered, and he started to cough. He opened his eyes slowly, looking from side to side, confused. The whole group stared back, equally as perplexed by him. Clarke cursed herself, she’d have to explain why they were looking at him like that. Like he was a God. 

 

She smiled, clasping her hands in front of her. Bellamy sat up slowly, leaning on his elbows. He looked at Clarke, then at her hands, the realization hitting him. “What did you do, Clarke?” He croaked out, coughing again. 

“She saved your life,” Jasper exclaimed. Bellamy raised his eyebrows. Clarke just shook her head at him, her eyes screaming:  _ Not now, Bellamy. Not now.  _ He seemed to understand and laid back down, groaning. 

 

Jasper stepped tentatively toward Bellamy, staring at his ears, his chest and then his face, all completely healed. As if nothing had happened. Bellamy opened one eye, to see Jasper hovering over him. 

“Who are you?... Death?” He asked abruptly. Bellamy sat up again, glancing to Clarke and then back to Jasper.

 

“Sometimes. Not today.”

 

He groaned and swung his feet over the table, standing up shakily. Clarke jumped to help him but he swatted her away. “I’m fine,” he muttered. Clarke shook her head and grabbed his arm. 

“Doctor’s orders,” she replied, tightening her grip. 

“You’re no doctor.” 

“I’m not,” she agreed, “But I’m the closest thing to it.”

 

It was then the both of them realized the whole room was staring at them for an explanation. Clarke saw Bellamy’s expression, and he nodded curtly. She sighed, looking to Raven. The girl just looked very, very confused. Clarke cleared her throat. 

 

“We, we aren’t from here...” She began, her eyes darting from person to person. 

“We are being chased, by my mother, and others, because of who we are.”

Bellamy then spoke up, “My real name is Hades, and she’s Persephone. We are Gods.” He was straight to the point. His eyes looked defeated, and tired. At first, no one said anything.

 

Raven broke the silence. “Bullshit.”

Bellamy rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Believe what you want. But it’s the truth,” he looked to Clarke, and then the others, “And we’re going to need your help.” 

 

-

 

Bellamy didn’t trust any of them. But he trusted Clarke, and that would have to be enough. Clarke tried to explain, to the best of her ability, how they got to Earth, this universe, and bits and pieces of why they were running. He wasn’t so sure she knew either. Some of the group nodded, some just stared. Bellamy felt this was pointless. Once Demeter found them, they’d all be dead. 

 

When Clarke was done explaining, she exhaled loudly and leaned towards Bellamy. She probably didn’t notice, but he did. She was fidgety, eager to impress the humans. Raven’s expression did not change. She still looked unconvinced. “How am I supposed to believe that?  _ Gods?  _ You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Jasper disagreed, however, “I believe her. I saw what she did.”

Then Monty spoke up, “Persephone is the Goddess of Spring. How the hell did you do that?” 

Clarke shrugged, “I’ve been trying to figure it out myself, but I don’t know. It just happened.” 

 

Then Miller spoke up. “So you guys aren’t married? Like in the story?”

 

Bellamy made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, almost a laugh, but not quite. Clarke’s mouth dropped open. “No,” she glared at him, “We’re not.” 

 

Monty had the same puzzled expression as Raven. They both thought logically, math and science first, and to them, this was preposterous. Then, he turned and stomped up the stairs to the hostel. He returned briefly, slamming a giant book on the table. It was titled  _ Greek Myths.  _ Bellamy swallowed. 

 

Monty blew the dust from the book and opened it to the table of contents. The rest of the group leaned over eagerly. He traced his finger through the names, the stories, Bellamy knew them all. He looked to Clarke, her expression unreadable. “Found it!” Monty exclaimed. 

 

He flipped through the pages, stopping towards the middle. At the top of the page, was their names. It was strange and surreal. Both him and Clarke stepped closer. 

 

But, the pages were blank. There was only a title. 

 

Their story now had no ending or beginning. As if they never existed. Monty frantically flipped the pages, muttering to himself. Raven’s eyebrows were stubbornly knit together, refusing to admit defeat. Miller was scratching his beard.

 

Clarke was smiling brilliantly, and he found he was too. 

 

The group sat in the empty bar, in a large booth in the corner, examining the book. Murphy poured them all drinks, Bellamy kept his untouched. Every so often, they’d read something and look up at Bellamy and Clarke. Raven would just shake her head, and then take a sip from her beer. Bellamy leaned toward Clarke, lips brushing her hair.  

“Can we talk later?” 

“I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I haven’t forgotten what happened before,” his voice was a dangerous whisper. A violent secret.

She scooted away from him and then turned to face him. Her eyes were dangerously dark. They heard the secret and were just as violent.  “Yeah, well, I haven’t forgotten either.”  

 

Eventually, after the group had looked through the whole book about three times over, they closed it and looked at Bellamy and Clarke. Like they were waiting for the real truth. Bellamy didn’t think they’d be able to handle all of that. The stories would have to do. 

 

“What do you exactly need help with?” Raven asked finally, looking at the both of them. She seemed genuine. Clarke looked to Bellamy, seeking an explanation as well. 

 

“It’s Demeter. And my sister. They’re both coming for us. And the spirits are too. We’re pretty much screwed. We just need all the help we can get.”

 

Clarke looked bewildered, that he’d actually say this. He wasn’t surprised, considering how much distrust he had for the humans. But he had to admit that they couldn’t do it alone, despite surviving thus far. A triumphant grin spread on her lips, because of him. Despite his pride, he wanted to be the one to make her smile like that all the time. 

 

“Why does your mom want you dead anyway?” Jasper asked suddenly, taking a sip from his third beer. Clarke almost choked on her drink. Then she glared at Bellamy.

“I don’t know. She gets rid of whoever gets in her way. I guess I was in the way,” she replied curtly. The question had stung far too much then she’d like to admit. 

“So, Clarke, Bellamy, are we in the way?” Raven asked, her grip on her glass tight. Clarke chewed on her bottom lip.

Bellamy answered for her. “No.” 

 

Clarke turned to Bellamy, she knew he was lying, but didn’t press on it. Raven leaned back, obviously still pissed about the whole situation. Clarke excused herself from the table and went upstairs. Bellamy followed her, to the sound of Miller and Jasper’s obnoxious howling. He rolled his eyes. 

 

Clarke was standing by the window in their room, the breeze pushing her hair away from her face. He closed the door softly. She didn’t turn around. He stepped toward her, he felt like he was walking through a minefield. “Why did you lie to them?” She whispered, more to the town than to him. 

 

Bellamy looked at the shop across the street, glass still littered the floor and poured into the street. “You can’t just tell people they’re probably going to die, Clarke.”

“But it’s the truth.” She was facing him now. He shook his head.

“There is nothing more than the truth that humans fear. Truth and death, they go hand in hand.”

“ Because as long as we exist, death is not here,” she quoted, her voice low. Bellamy nodded. 

 

“I have your knife.” She stated abruptly, reaching down into her boot and taking the blade and placing it in his palm. The engraving glinted in the pale moonlight. Bellamy curled his fingers around the handle, and then put the knife in its sheath. He nodded as a thank you. 

 

They remained silence for a few minutes, and Bellamy relished in it. For once, they were not fighting. And then she spoke, and the calm exploded around them, as it always did. She turned slowly, chewing on her bottom lip. “If you are not afraid of the truth, then why are you so hesitant to tell me all of it?”

 

Her voice was steady, she still did not meet his eyes. He looked at the moon outside, half in light and half in dark. Half truth and half lie. Half him and half of her. He cleared his throat and gestured to his bed. “Sit. I’ll tell you everything.”

 

She didn’t move at first, a brow raised in disbelief. He gestured again. He couldn’t believe he was quite doing this, it wasn’t like him to go spilling his life story. But she brought something out of him, something different. This thought plagued him almost every night since had known her. She sat on his bed, folding one leg under the other. He sighed, sitting across from her, against the headrest. 

 

She didn’t hesitate. “Well, go ahead.” He nodded, he wasn’t sure where to begin. 

 

“I guess I’ll start from the beginning.”

 

-

 

When he first started to speak, he avoided her eyes. He stared at his hands or at the comforter, sometimes to the side, where he’d pause and continue again. Clarke was fascinated with the way he spoke, like he was some great leader, leading his army into war. In another life, he might’ve been. Bellamy Blake’s story was a tragic one, as one might have expected from the God of the Underworld. 

 

“When I was born, I was sentenced to death,” he began, “Our eldest brother was to rule the Underworld, the noblest position at the time. I was a bastard. I had my father’s blood, but I was not his son. He killed my mother as soon as I was born.”

 

Clarke didn’t say anything, just crossed her legs, a chill running through her. Bellamy continued, “My half-brother vouched for me to live, that I could be of some use to the family. Aeschylus, that’s what they were going to name me.  _ Shame.  _ But, I was insufferable, I cried every night. They said I sounded like a demon. So they called me Hades instead.” 

 

The tale was incredibly dark, but he was still grinning. Bellamy had the most morbid sense of humor she had ever seen.

“You’re still insufferable,” she teased. He shook his head.

 

“Mine and Octavia’s only family were killed when I was young, and Octavia much younger. She does not remember much, only me. I do not want to delve into the very annoying and excruciating memories of raising my sister, but there are many,” he said, smiling proudly. Octavia brought that out of him. 

 

Then Bellamy paused. His smile fell. He looked toward the window. His jaw was tight, and a muscle ticked, as he thought about what to say next. Or rather, how to say it. 

 

“A lot of things were changing in our world at this time, many gods were falling and rising. It was borderline chaotic. That is when I sought the expertise of a witch —”

Clarke scoffed, interrupting him. “No, you did not.” His face was completely serious. She shook her head in disbelief. “You know how evil and conniving those damned witches can be—”

 

“But she was right.”

 

Clarke closed her mouth. “Right about what?”

“Can I please continue?” His voice was tinged with annoyance. Clarke flushed and nodded quickly, putting her hands in her lap. Bellamy cleared his throat. He leveled his tone to the same grandeur as before.

 

“She was a clairvoyant, extremely rare. She explained that time,” he pointed his finger up and traced a circle in the air, “is not a linear thing, but circular. Infinite, but still repeats.” He traced an infinity symbol in the air. 

 

“She told me, many years ago,” he closed his eyes, speaking slowly, “I would meet a soul like mine, forged in fire as I was forged in blood. Our paths would meet, and that there would be a quake so thunderous and so devastating, that it would change  _ everything _ .” The last word was a whisper. He traced the infinity symbol into the comforter slower now, not meeting her gaze. 

 

Her breath caught in her throat. 

 

Suddenly, more things about Bellamy Blake were clicking in place. Bellamy was not a puzzle to be solved, but a mosaic, the more broken pieces the better. She grabbed his hand gently and squeezed. He looked up, and she nodded, urging him to continue. He pulled his hand back, resting it where his blade lay.  _ A soul like his,  _ she thought,  _ Maybe not the same, maybe just a reciprocal. Like the sun and the moon. Death and Life. Him and me.  _ That was enough to make her head spin. 

 

“I died on a Winter morning,” Clarke’s eyebrows shot up, but he disregarded it, “ I do not remember much, but it was one of my mother’s sons, from one of her past lovers, my brother I suppose. He was angry, and I’m not even quite sure how he found me.” 

 

Bellamy talked about his death like one may talk about what they read in the paper that day. Clarke wanted to laugh out loud and slap him at the same time. 

 

“How...How are you alive then?” She looked him up and down, he was most definitely not a spirit. An onlooker might have thought otherwise. In the pale moonlight, he was a shadow, melting into the corners of the room. Bellamy gave his signature half-smile. 

 

“When a damned soul dies, it goes to the Underworld. And I was damned the day I was born.”

“That’s not a very good explanation,” she retorted. 

“I was born again, in the Underworld. I don’t know how. But I was praised, I was  _ worshiped.  _ It’s quite a grand feeling to be worshiped.” His voice was far off, recalling those memories from so many years ago. 

“I’m a God, I know, Bellamy.” She replied, rolling her eyes. 

 

“Yes, but you were born to be praised, Clarke.” He bit his lip like he had let the wrong thing slip. Like he had let many wrong things slip. 

 

She didn’t know how to answer him after that, so she just let him continue his story. 

 

“I went to visit that clairvoyant again, to get better answers, but she was murdered before I could ask. I waited for her spirit in the Underworld.” 

“And did she come?” Clarke asked, her voice more eager than he had meant it to be. This witch was now just as important to her as she was to him. He nodded curtly. 

 

“All she said was that we shall exist, and then exist no longer.” Bellamy traced the same circle into the comforter again. Clarke swallowed down the lump forming in her throat. 

 

The realization of it all fell on her much too quick for her to process. Here this clairvoyant was, years and years ago, telling their story. How she was born destined to burn everything the gods had maintained the order of for so many years; and how he was born, half royal, half sin, destined to die, and be reborn again. Clarke grabbed his hand, more urgently now. He didn’t pull away.

 

“How do I play into all of this Bellamy?” She wasn’t necessarily asking because she knew she played into about everything. He must have caught on, letting out a  _ humph  _ through his nose. He squeezed her hand back and smiled, one that she had never quite seen before. 

 

“Your mother is terrible at keeping her mouth shut, that’s for starters. The spirits hear it all, that’s how I know where the sinners will go. I heard your mother planning to kill you. She didn’t want you becoming more powerful than her. You were still young, and you just discovered your... _ talent, _ ” he emphasized the word, “And I don’t know, something told me I couldn’t just let that happen.”

 

He shook his head, his dark hair covering his eyes. Again, he was staring at the space between them, lightly tracing a circle into the bed. Clarke closed the space, her knees brushing against his thigh. She nodded, urging him to continue. He licked his lips. 

 

“I couldn’t see someone else be sentenced to death for something they couldn’t control, a fate they were born with—” He stopped, his voice becoming increasingly agitated. She still didn’t understand. 

 

_ Why me?  _ She thought. Bellamy shook his head, and she realized she had actually said that out loud.  __

 

“We’re different, me and you,” he shook his head, like the explanation might come easier if he did, “ I don’t know how to explain it, I just knew I couldn’t just sit around and let you die.”

 

There was a pause, both of them just looked at one another, as if waiting for the next answer to come. Clarke couldn’t explain it either, the inexplicable draw they had to one another. How in her light, there was always a darkness, always him. How even when she hated him, hated his castle, and his servants, she longed for him to look at her, for just a fraction of a second longer. Everything she grew, all of it would die, go back to him, and then the cycle would begin again. 

 

But she knew what he was trying to say, and he didn’t even have to say it. They spoke at the speed of light, without even opening their mouths. Blue and brown. Light and dark.

 

Clarke closed the gap between them even more until their faces were mere inches apart. His dark eyes were unreadable, but Clarke felt a tear escape one of hers. Bellamy put his hand on her cheek, brushing it away. She put a trembling hand right under his jaw. “Thank you,” she managed to choke out, “For keeping me alive.” It didn’t feel like enough.

 

And then she kissed him, and suddenly understood what the witch meant when she talked about earthquakes. 

 

He pulled her closer, raking his hands through her hair. Her hands cupped his face, and she moaned his name,  _ Hades,  _ like a prayer, no, like a promise. She let more tears fall.  

 

He pulled away first, and she was instantly ashamed. She flinched her hands away, letting them fall to her sides limply. She felt incredibly foolish like she was just scolded by her mother. The terrifying thought,  _ he doesn’t want me, _ sprung into her mind. 

 

Yet, Bellamy’s hand lingered where it had been at her knee. It sent a shiver through her.

 

“What is it?” She asked, her voice small. She felt more self-conscious than the time he had walked in on her bathing. He shook his head, and Clarke wanted to curl into a ball in the woods and will the vines to grow on her. Her cheeks were on fire. She started to get up before he took her hand. She sat back down.

 

“It’s not wise, you know,” he began.

“What’s not wise?” She asked, hesitant. 

“To flirt with death.” 

 

His face broke out into a smile. She knew he was right. But Clarke had been flirting with death ever since she healed that servant, and now she was practically dancing with it. It was both exhilarating and frightening beyond belief. She wanted to kiss him again, and again, but she did not move.  _ The earth cannot afford another earthquake,  _ she thought. 

 

She turned toward the window, the sky had lightened to a dull purple. They must have been talking for hours, yet it did not feel that long. Clarke felt something cool and metal pressed into her palm. She closed her hand around it, recognizing the familiar shape of the locket. 

 

“I felt like shit after our fight before,” he said, flexing his hand by his side. The scrapes that argument left on the both of them were still raw. “So I saw that, and then the ringing began, and well, you know the rest.” Clarke nodded. 

 

Bellamy stood up swiftly, grabbing the locket from her hand. She didn’t understand what he was doing until he began to brush her hair away from her neck. He put the necklace around her neck gently, and she shuddered at the feeling of the cold chain around her throat. Her hand instinctively reached for the pendant, and she thumbed the raised golden vines. Bellamy clasped the necklace, and it dangled just under the dip in her collarbones. She looked over her shoulder and smiled at him, he just nodded. 

 

“Bellamy, is there a reason you pulled away?” She blurted suddenly, colder than she intended. It’s not like they were anything really, but the hurt was evident. He was always so close, yet so far from her. It was like trying to grab a plume of smoke, gone before she could form a fist. He stiffened, his lips forming a slight frown. This was his armor, she came to notice. 

 

And then, to her surprise, he softened again. He had the same look in his eyes when he spoke about Octavia. _ Admiration. _ It took a moment for Clarke to realize it was toward her, and her cheeks pinked. He sat in front of her again, and brushed his thumb over the dip in her chin and then to her bottom lip. He lingered there.

 

Clarke wanted to scream, being around him made her dizzy in the most ravishing way. She could get drunk on it. “Would you like me to be completely and utterly honest with you?” He asked, not a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Clarke’s heart thumped wildly in her chest. This felt much more scandalous than any kiss. She nodded. Bellamy closed his eyes, and then let out a shallow breath. 

 

“You terrify me, and I’m afraid of what will happen to us when we fall to each other’s whims,” he dropped to a low whisper, his face still inches away, “The bringer of life and spring, and the God of the Dead? We must be madmen.” 

 

Clarke blinked. And then began to giggle. He grinned too. And then he kissed her, softer this time, as she laughed. 

 

The earth rumbled under them, but she didn’t notice it this time. 

 

And for the first time in a long time, she felt her worries dissolve away. It was incredible, the only thought in her mind was the press of his lips against hers. The feeling vanished as soon has he pulled away. They stayed like that, staring, for just a brief moment, drinking each other in. Bellamy looked out the window, and Clarke could hear the chirps of birds outside.

 

The room was cast in early morning light, and Clarke yawned. They had stayed up the whole night, and she was both exhausted and revitalized. Bellamy Blake had no gray areas, only black and white. The feelings he gave her were much the same. She got up and walked to her bed, only a few feet away from him. Much too far. 

 

She pulled herself under the covers and turned to face him. Her eyelids felt incredibly heavy, and she struggled to keep them open. This time, sleep came easier than it ever had, black hair and brown eyes pulling her into a dreamless sleep.  

 

-

 

A few days had passed since that night, with no signs of a holy war on the horizon. At least, not yet. Everything was eerily calm. 

 

Jasper asked about it eagerly every day, and Raven grumbled under her breath every time. Bellamy had to reassure Clarke that Raven would understand soon enough, that she just needed time. But Clarke was stubborn, so Bellamy gave up trying to convince her. He didn’t understand her need to make friends with the humans, but he couldn’t stop her. 

 

The days after that night with her was strange, he couldn’t explain it, but the storms in him had calmed. For once in his life, it was not the howl of the wind in his ears, but  _ her. _ Her voice in the morning, her laugh, Gods, her laugh. There was nothing on the planet that made his heart summersault like that laugh. Looking at her across the dark bar, playing a card game with their group, laughing, she was more radiant than he had ever seen her. 

 

That was the thing about Clarke Griffin, she caught him by surprise. Which was the most ironic part of it, considering he literally caught her by surprise. He did not mean to get so screwed up by her like he did, but that’s exactly what had happened. The green that sprouted from her fingertips strangled his heart, and he let it with open arms. 

 

Clarke waved at him, gesturing him to sit next to him. She was beaming, and the vines pulled tighter. He scooted next to her, as Raven explained the rules of the game they were playing. She shuffled quickly, her hands moving almost as quick as her mouth. 

 

“Poker is easy if you’re a good liar or very lucky,” she looked at each person in the booth, “So we should all be amazing.” 

 

Bellamy had only heard half of the instructions, so he only knew how to play about half the game. They had games in the underworld, but they were different, ancient. He kicked Clarke’s foot, but she ignored him. He came closer to her, his lips close to her ear. 

“Help me cheat.” 

She turned now, her cards pressed to her chest, a shocked expression on her face. 

“Cheat?” She whispered furiously, “I intend to win, Bellamy.”

 

Bellamy folded. The whole group groaned, and he heard Jasper mutter to Monty, “ _ Dad’s getting too old for games.”  _ The two boys snickered. Bellamy didn’t care, he just focused on Clarke and the stubborn little furrow between her brows. He wanted to kiss it away. 

 

They played a few times, but their supplies of peanuts were running dangerously low. Raven had decided that they were all too broke to be gambling actual money, so she made Murphy bring the giant bag of peanuts from behind the bar to her. In the first round, Jasper had absentmindedly eaten a few, and the whole group screamed at him. And then proceeded to burst into laughter. 

 

Bellamy found himself laughing with them too, and Clarke looked as shocked as he was. Being around the humans, not above them, or in his case, below them, was strangely liberating. He was taught to distrust the humans from a very young age, the only knowledge his father had ever instilled in him. 

 

He had said, “Man will never cease to be greedy, and it will cause their demise.” He had told him stories of the humans, the savage things they had done. Endless bloodshed, war, enslavement. He didn’t understand. He asked his father a rather naive question, “Haven’t the Gods done equally as terrible things?”

 

That earned him a slap across the face. Bellamy could recall the painful sting years and years later. Like it had just happened. Clarke’s gentle press on his knee pulled him back. She smiled, and that’s all he needed.

 

-

 

The days had turned into about a month, and Bellamy was growing restless now. He was paranoid, and it was driving everyone mad. 

 

One night, as Clarke was pushing their beds together (they had decided that they’d both sleep better that way), she grew tired of it.  

“Bellamy!”

He stopped. “Can you please,” she let out a breath and ran a hand through her hair, “Calm down.”

He looked at her like she was speaking another language. “How can I possibly be calm? Your mother is coming to slaughter us both!”

She fluffed her pillow and shook her head, “Stop pacing for one.” He stopped. She walked toward him and noticed how much he had tired himself from worry. She ran her hand through his hair, fluffing it out. He hated when she did that, but she loved it. He didn’t say anything about it now. 

 

“I’m scared too,” she said finally. He swallowed and nodded. He took her hand away from his face and kissed her knuckles, sending a spark through her. They had never left, only amplified. She was a lit firework around him. 

 

“I know we’ll find a way,” she whispered, “Together.” 

 

He nodded and then grinned. Clarke loved when he smiled, he had such beautiful laugh lines for someone who was grumpy most of the time. He dropped her hands and then flopped onto their Frankenstein-Bed, groaning. She giggled. “I never want to leave this bed,” he said into the pillows. Clarke joined him on the bed, the fatigue of the day setting in. 

 

Clarke had insisted, after days of nothing but waiting for disaster, that she get a job in the town. Bellamy’s immediate response was no. She knew the risks, but they were not going to be able to survive on the money her mother had left her. She had to convince Bellamy money didn’t grow on trees (even though it technically did), and that nothing bad would happen (a shallow promise, and he knew that.) 

 

The only place she thought of working was in the antique shop across the street. She figured helping that woman who’s store they nearly leveled would ease her conscience. 

 

The woman, Quella, was still traumatized from what happened, but Clarke made her tea and talked with her for hours. Clarke learned Quella was an immigrant, she traveled Europe in a wagon with her sons, collecting various things before settling down. Quella warmed up to Clarke quickly. Bellamy, however, took some time. 

 

Each morning, before they opened the shop, the two women would have tea together. And each morning, Quella would ask Clarke about Bellamy.

 

“What is it that draws you to him?” She asked, slurping her tea. The woman took her tea very sweet, and Clarke’s was plain. She shrugged. 

_ Where do I even begin,  _ she thought. “He’s saved me, I’ve saved him.” 

She tutted, taking another sip before putting her cup down. “It’s much more than that and you know it.” 

 

They had left the discussion at that. 

 

Now, laying in bed with Bellamy after a day of work, she could stop and think. She knew they were much more, but she felt like Quella knew more than she was letting on. Clarke didn’t know what to think of it. She looked to Bellamy, who was slowly falling asleep. She nudged him awake. 

 

“Don’t you dare fall asleep in those clothes in this clean bed,” she scolded. He groaned and she nudged him again until he got up. He tore his shirt off, his toned chest glistening in the candlelight. Clarke couldn’t help but stare at him, and this time she wasn’t ashamed. Desire pulsed through her loud and true. 

 

It’s not like she hadn’t thought about it. Sometimes, when he had her pressed to a wall in the hallways after drinking with the group, that’s all she wanted. However, something in the back of her mind kept her from ripping all of their clothing off. Perhaps it was the impending doom of her mother. 

 

He noticed her staring but didn’t say anything, he took his boots off and then his pants. He was only in his boxers when he flopped back onto his stomach. Clarke took a deep breath to calm herself down before getting up to get changed. She took her nightgown off the chair and changed in the bathroom. She didn’t trust herself. 

 

He was half asleep when she got changed. She blew out the candles in the room, the only light from the moon. She walked to their bed and curled herself next to Bellamy. Like a moth drawn to light, she always found herself right by his side. He mumbled something into the pillow. 

 

“What?” She whispered, her nails lazily tracing his spine. 

He mumbled again, but she still couldn’t understand him. 

She sighed, “Goodnight, Bellamy.”

“Clarke.”

“What?”

“You’re really cute when you’re turned on.” Clarke’s mouth dropped open, and she saw him smile into his pillow. She smacked his shoulder, and he laughed soundlessly. He then turned to his side, and she pressed herself against his chest, observing the way his eyelashes fluttered until he fell asleep. She hooked her leg over his. It wasn’t quite comfortable, but neither of them moved. 

 

It took Clarke a longer time to fall asleep. Her mind worked best at night, and so it kept her up. She often thought about the night she crawled from the Underworld into this world. She thought she was finally going home.

 

Clarke felt her eyes begin to droop. She touched the locket around her neck. Bellamy had begun to snore, and she smiled to herself before closing her eyes to sleep. The last thought on her mind that night ingrained itself there permanently. 

 

_ My home is here.  _

 

\---

 

She didn’t expect the journey to be easy, but she didn’t expect it to be as exhausting as it was. The magic it took, and the bribery, was ridiculous. Plus, she had no landing skills. Her magic was drained when she landed Persephone safely into that bed. Anything to lure Persephone into believing her. 

 

Demeter and Hermes landed on a forest path, while a few henchmen and spirits landed in the forest. Demeter groaned. At least the ground was soft. One of her henchmen had not been so lucky, landing on a jagged rock. She was much too busy to clean up that mess. 

 

Demeter lifted herself off the ground, dusting off her dress. That would not help her, it had been ruined in travel. She made a noise of disgust. The human world was already disappointing her.  

 

Hermes landed a few feet away, and he hurriedly dusted himself off and walked to her. He was eager to serve Demeter, he was still young and foolish. He checked his satchel, making sure that all the scrolls he bought were safely tucked inside. 

“Are you sure we landed in the right place?” He asked, taking out his map. 

 

Demeter looked around, the forest looked the same as any. But she felt the pull to this place, her daughter and that demon were near. She knew it. She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. Her henchmen groggily got up and stood by her side. 

 

“We leave next nightfall,” she announced. All of them mumbled a “Yes, your majesty”, and her heart soared. She’d never get sick of that. 

 

Hermes came back next to her after everyone had dispersed to set up camp. He was built like a matchstick, with no means of fire to ignite him. Demeter would not allow for such a thing, he was too useful to be lost to someone else. He pointed at the map and began to explain something to her, but she wasn’t quite listening.

 

Something off the trail had caught her eye. 

 

She walked away from Hermes and stepped closer. A pink flower poked out from the grass, a stark contrast from the yellowing grass. It practically glowed in the dark. Demeter smirked. 

 

She knew this flower anywhere. Her and Persephone made it long ago. Demeter picked it out of the grass and stared at it momentarily. They had made it before Persephone had become what she was now. 

 

_ A rebel princess,  _ she thought to herself,  _ with her king by her side.  _

 

She crushed the flower in her hand until it was no more than a few seeds. Demeter turned back to Hermes, who was staring at her, terribly confused. 

 

She smiled wickedly, “We’re close.” 

 

\---

 

The band was back, and Clarke practically begged Bellamy to go down with her. He initially complained he was too tired from helping Raven and Murphy and that he needed his “beauty sleep.” He was still trying to convince her when she came out of the bathroom in her new dress. The words died on his tongue. 

 

Raven and Quella forced her to get it. It  _ was _ a beautiful dress, dark blue with hand-stitched embroidery. The silk fell just below her knees. It reminded her of the dresses she’d wear as a young girl. But it was much too expensive for their budget. She only worked for about two weeks now, so their money went to food and paying for their stay at Arkadia. 

 

Quella and Raven insisted on paying for half, and Clarke insisted on denying their charity. This went on for a while until the vendor impatiently cleared his throat. Raven and Quella handed the man the money and he gave them the dress. 

 

She owed them much more than money. The look on Bellamy’s face was priceless. She twirled around. “What do you think? Too much?” 

 

He shook his head and then took off his shirt. Now Clarke was taken aback. They both had a knack for surprising each other. 

 

“I just got dressed, Bellamy,” she warned, smoothing her dress down. He shook his head and then went to his closet, taking out a clean shirt and pulling it over his head. 

 

“First,” he walked to the other side of the room where his boots were, “I’m going with you to that awful, noisy human celebration,” then he walked to her, grabbing her waist and pulling her close. She gasped in surprise. 

 

“ _ Then  _ I’m taking that dress off.” 

 

Bellamy wasn’t going to drink, but she was. Only in moderation though. After her last,  _ excursion _ , and pounding headache, she’d only get tipsy. Now Bellamy was with her, and that was enough. 

 

The group was sitting in their usual spot, drinking and laughing. Clarke felt Bellamy’s hand grip hers. It was clammy,  _ he was nervous.  _ She squeezed his hand back. Jasper and Monty waved at them, Clarke waved back. 

 

The group was already on their second or third drinks. Murphy came to them as soon as he saw Clarke and Bellamy. Clarke ordered a beer, Bellamy ordered nothing. Everyone rolled their eyes. 

 

Bellamy kept his hand on hers the whole time, he wasn’t relaxing one bit. She untangled her fingers from his and wiped her hand on her dress. 

“Bellamy you need to relax.” 

He scrubbed his face and then leaned back in the booth, shoulders slumped. “I’m trying.” 

Clarke scoffed. “No, you are not.”

“No, I really am.” 

She started to laugh and then kissed his cheek. “Let’s dance.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Now? You know I don’t dance.”

She nodded and then pushed him with her hip. He didn’t budge. Clarke crossed her arms and pouted, Bellamy hadn’t seen the doe eyes yet. 

 

He melted like chocolate in front of her. 

 

She grinned triumphantly and he got out of the booth, extending his hand to her. 

 

Bellamy Blake was a terrible dancer, and Clarke was not the least bit surprised. It was like trying to dance with an oak tree, although she supposed the oak tree would be better than him. 

 

He smiled at her the whole time though, and she didn’t even care that they were making fools of themselves. For just a brief moment in time, it was just her and Bellamy alone in their foolish daze of happiness.

 

She kissed him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

 

He tasted like joy.

 

She knew it’d all come crashing down soon enough. 

 

Eventually, she tired herself out from moving Bellamy’s tree stumps to dance. She was sweating and dragged him back to the booth. She stopped in her tracks when she saw Raven sitting by herself. 

“Go.” 

Bellamy nodded in Raven’s direction and let her hand go. 

“Are you going to go back upstairs?” She frowned. He looked at the bar, where Murphy was pouring shots and Jasper was throwing peanuts into Monty’s mouth. He shook his head. 

 

“I think I’ll just go over there.”

 

Clarke beamed, and he was melting again, and so was she. 

 

Raven didn’t say anything when Clarke sat across from her, and Clarke didn’t expect her to. She was still angry, and confused; Clarke couldn’t blame her. She was like that once upon a time too. That seemed like forever ago. 

 

“I’m sorry, Raven,” she began, trying to unscramble her thoughts, “It wasn’t safe, and it still isn’t safe, and I know you don’t think we are actually what we are but, you’re my first friend on Earth. I don’t want to lose that.” 

 

A beat, and then Raven was smiling just as bright as the first day they met. “So, I get to say I was one of a  _ God’s  _ first friends.  _ That _ is fucking cool.” 

 

Clarke felt like an immense weight was lifted off of her. She needed Raven, and somewhere deep inside, she assumed Raven needed her too. Raven hadn’t kissed anyone after their talk, so that was a good sign. 

 

Raven asked Clarke about Bellamy, and also bragged about how she was right that first night. 

“You most definitely owe me one,” Raven declared. Clarke snorted. 

“I don’t owe you anything,” she retorted. 

Raven’s eyebrow shot up. “Actually,” she started counting on her fingers, “You do owe me your stay for the last week.” 

 

They laughed and talked easily, alcohol dissolving any of the remaining tension between the women. 

 

Raven was in the middle of telling a story about Monty when the first shots rang out. 

 

-

 

It took Bellamy a few moments to register that those were gunshots, not instruments and that those were dead people on the floor, not wasted drunkards. 

 

Jasper had given him something and Bellamy wished he hadn’t taken it. Jasper called them the ‘Special Peanuts’, or nuts that “completely trip you out,” as Jasper said. Bellamy felt awful for being such a “party pooper”, as Miller eloquently put it. So he ate them.

The blood on the floor was neon and the screams and thunder of footsteps all blurred into one dizzying cacophony of color and sound. Bellamy’s arms and legs felt useless, and then someone was pushing him and he was stumbling out of the bar. 

 

More shots.  _ I really should not have done that.  _

 

People were crying. And then, as if a rope was wrapped around his lungs, he remembered Clarke.  _ Clarke. Who was still in there, where there are guns being fired. Demeter has taken her. _

 

_ No, no, no, this isn’t happening,  _ he thought frantically. He looked at the bar, people were still frantically running out. Clarke was nowhere to be seen.

 

He ran his hands through his hair, close to ripping it out. Miller was shaking his arm, but it took Bellamy a minute to register what he was saying or doing. 

“Bellamy, Bellamy, we have to go.” 

“Where— I can’t leave, Clarke is still in there, she could be dead I—” Miller’s grip on him was tight, he wasn’t letting him go back in there. 

“She’s safe, Bellamy, just come with me,” he said, loosening his hold slightly.

 

_ She’s safe.  _ He didn’t know if he was going to collapse from the drugs or the immeasurable amount of relief he felt. He figured it was both. The one thought that plagued him for eternity almost came true that night, and he wanted to scream. 

 

For a moment, his heart almost lost its beat. 

 

He almost lost  _ her.  _

 

He followed Miller, who led him through dark alleyways that snaked through the town. They weren’t far from Arkadia, he could still the cries and screams. He shuddered.

 

It sounded like the worst parts of the Underworld. 

 

Miller stopped in front of an alley, the rest of the group was hiding there. Bellamy saw Clarke first, her hair a beam of light in the darkness. She turned around slowly, as did the rest of the group.

 

She was crashing into him before he had a chance to register it. He faltered, not believing it was quite real, and then wrapped his arms around her. He breathed her in, holding her like she might just float away. 

 

She was crying, he realized, tears soaking through his shirt. Then she was kissing him, on his neck and jaw and cheek, murmuring “Thank the Gods _ ” _ , and Bellamy felt his heart pick up again.

 

“I thought—” She shook her head, “I’m glad you’re safe.” 

 

He nodded, and just looked at her, taking her all in. Like he was looking at her for the first time. 

 

Bellamy looked around them, realizing that they weren’t alone in the whole universe. He kept his arm wrapped around her shoulder, and she leaned into him. The whole group was there, except for Murphy and Raven. 

 

Miller shook his head. “I didn’t see what happened.”

Bellamy felt Clarke shaking. “I was the last person with her— but I don’t know, it happened so quick.” Her voice was cracking, and Bellamy pulled her closer. 

“Who do you think did this?” Monty asked.

 

They all looked to Bellamy and Clarke, and they looked at each other. They knew the answer, and it was terrifying to even think about, let alone say out loud. Clarke sighed.

 

“This had to have been my mother, this was just her warning. She knows where I am, she knows...she probably sent her henchmen...” Bellamy saw her lip quivering, she was close to tears. He ached to take some of the burdens off of her shoulders.

 

Then, shouts echoed from down the street. The whole group snapped their heads back. They poured into the street to see what the commotion was. Murphy was carrying Raven, who was unconscious. She was leaving a trail of blood behind her. 

 

Clarke was moving before anyone else. “Did you see who did it?” She asked, assessing Raven’s wound. Murphy shook his head, he looked as frozen as the rest of the group. Raven had a bullet wound in her back, with no exit wound. 

 

Clarke ordered Jasper and Miller to help carry her. They found an old tarp on the street and used it as a makeshift stretcher. 

“Where do we go?” Monty asked out loud, not really to a particular person. Bellamy didn’t know either. 

 

Then Jasper spoke up, “I know where we could go, and help Raven, but she’s not going to like it.” 

 

Clarke was trying to rouse Raven awake as they walked through a few more narrow streets. Bellamy had no idea where they were going, they all just followed Jasper’s lead. They stopped at a rickety cabin by a river on the edge of town. 

 

“We’re here,” Jasper announced, and everyone but Bellamy understood why Jasper had a nervous expression on his face. 

Miller noticed and whispered to Bellamy, “This is her ex-girlfriend’s house.” 

 

Bellamy nodded. Raven was going to kill them all when she woke up.  _ If _ she woke up. 

 

Monty knocked on the door tentatively. Bellamy noticed Harper and Monroe holding each other and crying. A beat. And then a bolt unlocked, and the door creaked open.

 

A woman with curly amber hair opened the door. She looked like she had just gotten out of bed. 

“Jasper?” She asked, her eyes meeting everyone’s before landing on the tarp holding Raven, “What’s going on?” 

 

He fidgeted. “Luna...Raven’s been shot.” 

 

An intake of air, a curse under her breath, and then she was out of the doorway and by Raven’s side. Not touching her, however. Bellamy could tell she wanted to, he noticed how her hands trembled.

 

Luna, as Bellamy learned, had a pretty big cabin. It fit all of them as they raced to help Raven. She was waking up now and groaning in pain. They set her on the kitchen table, and Clarke was trying to make her as comfortable as possible. 

 

Clarke lifted her shirt, where Raven’s skin had purpled around the bullet wound. It was almost black. Bellamy had to look away. He heard Raven let out a shaky breath. 

 

“Clarke,” she squeaked out, “I can’t feel my legs.”

 

-

 

That’s when it all came crashing down. Now Clarke was stuck, she didn’t know what to do exactly. She had never healed a bullet wound, she didn’t even know how to. For a brief moment, she wished her mother was there, she’d know what to do under pressure like this. Luna grabbed her and pulled her aside. 

 

“Can you help her or not?” Her eyes were practically bulging out of her head from worry.

Clarke shook her head, “I don’t know.”

Luna’s face scrunched up. She pointed to her friends gathered around Raven, “They all said you could help her, that you’re a healer. So help her.”

 

Clarke looked down at her hands. She was terrified to use her powers like this. But she had no choice. She put a reassuring hand on Luna’s arm. “I’m going to try my best, but you have to trust me.” Luna nodded, and Clarke realized that she had no one else to trust. Now she really was terrified.

 

She walked over to Raven who was still painfully groaning. Clarke wanted to cry, but she kept her cool exterior. She saw the terror in her friend’s faces, losing Raven was unimaginable to them. She couldn’t show them fear, then they’d really be lost. She hovered her hands over Raven’s wound, feeling the blood cells rushing around it. Her hands began to tingle. 

 

The quiet was deafening. It felt like it was just Clarke and that bullet in the room. She closed her eyes, imagining, willing, the bullet to come out. Her hands were trembling with the amount of energy she was using. And then, with a sickening squelch, the bullet emerged from the wound, levitated in the air momentarily, and then dropped to the floor. 

 

Luna gasped. And Raven began to scream. 

 

Blood was gushing everywhere and Clarke didn’t know what to do. Everything was red, red, red and Raven couldn’t stop screaming, and Clarke had killed her. A thousand different thoughts raced through her head. One was louder than the rest:  _ Queen of the Underworld, Queen of Death. _

 

Luna was shaking, begging her to do something. Jasper was on the floor, his head in his hands. Clarke just stood there, her mind was telling her to  _ move,  _ but her body remained frozen. She looked to Bellamy, his face was pained. She inhaled deeply. 

 

Finding her strength, she put her hands back on Raven’s wound. Clarke closed her eyes, feeling energy swirling out of her fingertips. She put Raven into a sleep and then proceeded to close the wound up. 

 

Clarke felt every nerve in Raven’s legs and the ones that no longer worked. She tried to turn them back on, letting out a groan of frustration. She just kept hitting a wall. She had this  _ talent,  _ as Bellamy had called it, and she couldn’t even do this. She felt a press on her shoulder, a familiar hand. Bellamy’s. A small comfort, the only comfort he could provide. 

 

Clarke closed her hands slowly, feeling a shock. One of Raven’s legs lit up again, just like that. Clarke could see every nerve working in her right leg. She let out a breath of relief. Clarke tried with the other leg, nothing. Her whole body was trembling now, she felt any last drop of energy leave her body. 

 

She collapsed into Bellamy’s arms, who was right there to catch her. 

 

-

 

Bellamy carried Clarke onto the large couch in the center of Luna’s living room. The rest of the group carried Raven, gently putting her down on a bed Luna dragged out. Luna showed everyone where the food and water were and then sat back down next to Raven. She had begun to murmur something in Raven’s ear while stroking her hair. 

 

“You have to tell her when she wakes up,” Bellamy said. 

Luna stopped. “I know.” She began to murmur in her ear again. 

“What are you telling her now?”

Louder, she repeated herself, in perfect Greek. “I give myself, to the miracle, of the sea.” 

Bellamy knew he recognized her accent. He nodded and smiled at the ancient proverb.

 

He looked back to Clarke, sleeping peacefully. He took a blanket off the back of the couch and covered her. He gently rubbed the dried blood off her cheek. He noticed how much blood had gotten on her new blue dress. He’d have to get her another one soon. 

 

“You have to tell her too, you know,” Luna said suddenly, not looking away from Raven.

 

Before Bellamy could reply, a banging on the front door startled him. He looked to Miller, who was sitting by the door. He nodded to him. Miller got up, unlocked the door and opened it. His eyebrows shot up. “Bellamy, come here.”

 

He went to him, stopping in his tracks. The woman in front of him looked like a warrior taken out of a storybook. She was panting, her wild black hair falling out of its once elegant braids. Bellamy felt the air knocked right out of him. She smiled brightly. 

  
“Hello, Brother.”


End file.
